Brothers Up In Arms
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Sequel to Graduation Celebration Confrontation; Tony's only trying to help, but things don't go well between himself and Tim
1. Chapter 1

**AN: You do need to have read the longwindedly titled Graduation Celebration Confrontation to make head or tail of this story… I just felt there was a bit more mileage left in it…**

**Huge thanks to all the people who reviewed GCC; it meant so much being in contact with so many fantastic people. Flattery? Me? Nooooooo….**

Brothers Up In Arms

By scousemuz1k

Chapter 1

Terry Packer was an angry man. He was also broke, and full of resentment. It was a SWAT team's job to take the risks… so they should be allowed to take them their own way, right? Criminals used violence, so it was right to use violence against them, right? And the best way to handle a situation was to get in first and ask questions later. All his team agreed with him; he'd trained them well. It was inevitable that the ethos of the leader would trickle through to the rest of the guys; that was how he wanted it, how it should be.

And if the perp got handled a bit roughly afterwards, well so what? If they hadn't been perpetrating _something_, they wouldn't have brought it on themselves. Anyone calling him or his men heavy handed should try doing the job. Nobody had been killed; what was the big deal?

Except that the guy had already had a bullet in his chest, and nobody had bothered to look. Except that the guy had hardly been able to stand… his gun had been pointed at the floor, and there were witnesses to say he never attempted to lift it; bleeding hearted witnesses who said he'd been punched and kicked and stamped on when he was already cuffed. Except that the guy was a freaking _federal agent._

He'd mouthed off at him, for crissakes, made _fun_ of him, and the way he did his job, he'd asked for what he got. Except that the brass didn't see it that way. 'Excessive force.' 'Poor reading of the situation.' 'Overuse of violence endemic throughout team.'

So, Lieutenant Packer, your team will be split up and sent to other leaders who will teach them how to achieve the correct balance in their work and not to believe in the use of violence as the only method of dealing with a situation. Or, for that matter, a person. You will be demoted to sergeant, and sent to run a rural station, where you will show yourself able to deal wisely with every kind of person and situation on a daily basis before you will be reconsidered for any sort of rapid response work.

Screw that! As Senior Lieutenant, Barraclough was only one grade above him, and had been a SWAT leader himself. He should have supported him, not hung him out to dry. So they hadn't sent the rent-a-mouth to Mercy Hospital, again, so what? He didn't take orders from feds. The fact that the fed had intimidated him, scared him rigid, had nothing at all to do with it.

"_I expect __**you **__to make sure he gets the best medical care in the city."_

Well, that was Mercy, where they always sent injured cops, but this guy was nothing to do with him. Expect away. When the EMTs said the general hospital, he didn't bother to put them right. And for that they were demoting him? He'd banged his badge down on the Captain's desk in a fit of self-righteous pique, and quit.

Looking for sympathy in the bar that night, he found it hard to come by. The leaders of the two other SWAT units were not pleased at the possibility of being tarred with the same brush. "No, Terry, we don't run our teams like that. And we don't want anyone thinking that we do." Overhearing a conversation he wasn't supposed to didn't make him consider that eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.

"_You sorry to be off Packer's team?"_

"_Sorry? Hell, no. I'm relieved. I stood there and watched… that fed was covered in blood and I just watched while Packer and Tresco beat on him. I just feel guilty… glad it's over. Shit… I'm glad he's gone!"_

He stormed out, picked a fight with the first drunk he met, beat him senseless, and went home to fester. Three weeks later, he hadn't found a job, and hadn't stopped brooding on the unfairness of life, or his loathing for an agency he'd never even heard of before. His bank account was empty, his blood was dilute scotch; as he walked by the University, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, glowering at the few postgrads who were still around over the summer break, he really wanted to kill somebody.

* * *

Tim McGee was a happy man. He was a contented man, a fulfilled man, and a man in love. Sitting at his desk, trying to keep his mind entirely on the report he was writing, he still kept putting a hand in his pocket and fingering his phone; as if touching it would make it buzz. He was aware of Gibbs giving him a thin, amused smile, and Tony's head turning towards him every time his hand reached down.

"McGoo, if I didn't know what you were doing, I'd _wonder _what you were doing…"

Tim returned both hands to the keyboard hastily, as now Ziva was showing an interest too. He shrugged internally, he was _almost_ relieved to hear the comment; it was _almost_ the first thing DiNozzo had said since he dozed off at his desk at lunchtime. He wondered if the Senior Field Agent was not feeling too good. OK, he didn't tire as easily now as he had a week ago, when he'd returned to work, too soon as usual. But he was 'fine', wasn't he always… they just kept an eye on him, as always – Tim's phone buzzed, and he snatched it from his pocket, his heart beginning to pound anxiously.

"_Why are you anxious, McGee? Any researcher would jump to have Mari working with them. Yes… but if she doesn't get a post over here, she'll keep on working in Switzerland… and she won't marry me…"_ He read the text, aware that all three members of the team were watching him, and the smile that spread slowly over his good-natured face told them what they wanted to know.

When he replaced the phone, Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It's all done, Boss. Mari's a full time senior member of Professor Oshiro's team, as of today. She's moving to New York permanently. I owe you guys."

"Please do not start saying that again, McGee," Ziva said. "We have covered that grass before – " she waited for a correction from DiNozzo, but none came – "We are happy for you."

Tony gave him a brilliant smile. "That's great news, McGroom," he said.

It was impossible to faze McGee these days. "Give me a chance, Tony… she's not exactly said yes, yet."

"But she has not exactly said no either," Ziva joined in, observing in passing that Tony's smile faded as soon as Tim wasn't looking at him, as if the effort of maintaining it was too much...

"She says she's going to go and lease a car," Tim said happily, "She'll be down here tomorrow night."

"Let's hope for a quiet weekend, then," Gibbs said. "So, go home and talk to her, McGee."

"Er, thanks, Boss!"

"Everyone, finish up tomorrow." Nobody needed to be asked twice.

* * *

Tony DiNozzo was a bewildered man. Completely shocked. Heartbroken probably came into it somewhere too. When Josh Cooper had called him and said he was in Washington, how about meeting for a beer, he'd been delighted. He'd only seen him once since he left the hospital, when his young friend had graphically told him how Tim had dealt with the kidnappers.

"Way I hear it you did OK too, Josh."

The young man had laughed. "You should have seen Anni with the table lamp! Never thought of myself as an action man, but you know, I might want to become an agent one day…"

"Hey, let me know if you do."

Last night, they'd met in Tony's favourite bar; he'd expressed surprise that Anne-Marie wasn't there too.

"I needed to talk to you alone, Tony."

For a moment, the big agent remembered his ramblings in the hospital, and thought with a surge of delight that Josh really _was_ going to ask him to be his best man; but the look on the youngster's face was uncomfortable and anything but happy.

"O-kay… what's up?"

"Mom."

"Gill? Is she alright?" Tony was alarmed.

"Yes, she's fine. No… actually, she – she's not. _She thinks I shouldn't be associating with you any more._" In a rush, without warning. Tony was stunned.

"Not… not associating with me? Or does she mean NCIS?"

Poor Josh struggled to get the words out. "Both, Tony. But mostly she doesn't like me being friends with you."

"What? I mean, Josh, why? What have I -" A horrible thought struck him; it was ludicrous, but he couldn't think of anything else drastic enough to explain what he was hearing. "She doesn't – I mean, you and me… she doesn't think we're - "

"No, Tony! Hell, no, nothing like that. She knows you're my _friend_." Josh took a deep breath. "Claire's been sleeping really badly. She saw you shot, and rough-housed by the SWAT team; she keeps dreaming about it, sometimes it's me, sometimes Anni, she sees the Swat guys dragging you around by the hair, and …well, she's had a few of these bad nightmares."

"Poor kid," Tony said. "Is she seeing anybody? To talk to?"

"The same lady she saw when Dad was killed; she says she'll work through it, and be OK, and I think she will, not that I'd know, but it's worrying Mom. She was shocked and really afraid as well, I think she thought she'd lose me too… but she says she's fine, and she won't see anyone. She says she's dealing, but it's the third time she's had to, and she's not doing as well as she thinks she is."

"Oh, Gill," Tony said regretfully. "She's had it tough, that's for sure… you know we all tried to be there for her, don't you? All the time you were away; we didn't leave her to cope on her own, Josh. That's the truth."

"I know that. Of course I know it! Tony, _she_ knows it too; that just makes it worse."

He paused, not knowing how to go on. Finally, he braced himself. He owed it to the staunch, good friend sitting there looking banjaxed, to keep it together. "I asked Anni to marry me," he went on eventually, "We set a date for after I finish at Georgetown, next June. I wanted to ask you to be my best man… when I told Mom I thought she'd be pleased; but she was… I don't know… a bit cool about it; said I should choose someone closer to my own age. I told her I felt closer to you than to any of my college friends, and I reminded her that you'd got me through the time after Dad was killed."

He looked at his hands. "She said, 'Real friends don't nearly get you killed, or fill your head with foolish notions of being a secret agent."

"I really don't understand," Tony said, bewildered, "How did I do that?"

Josh ran his hand through his hair. "I told Mom that none of the bad things that had happened were your fault, or NCIS's, they'd have happened anyway. I said how you all worked _afterwards,_ to put things right… you and Tim both risked your lives to save Anne-Marie and me, and Mari; and she said…" He gulped.

"Josh…"

"She asked what was so all-fired wonderful about being a Special Agent that you were trying to get me to leave a good, safe career to go off on the same ego-trip you were on."

Tony was really worried by now. "Now that's not Gill. She's my friend too, Josh… it was her idea for me to escort her, and Claire, at your graduation, and I was proud to." He laughed sharply. "Hell, we had a great time – until it all went pearshaped of course…why would she say something like that about me?"

"I don't know. She's still shocked… she's worrying about Claire…"

"But where did this idea come from of me trying to make you become an agent?"

"D'you remember I said to you that it might be fun one day? I wasn't really serious… I mean, your team are all single, I don't know how Tim'll cope as a married man…"

"_Very perceptive of you," _Tony though, and tried not to let the sudden wave of bitterness he felt wash over his face.

"I wouldn't want Anni to be always worrying about me," the young man went on in complete innocence. "She knew I was joking too, but apparently when she told Mom, it didn't go down too well. Tony… I'm sorry… if she was OK, I'm sure this wouldn't be happening." He sighed, and shook his head. "I told her that you were my friend and you wouldn't do that, and I intended to stay your friend, and she…"

"Go on," Tony said, his heart sinking further.

"She said if I really loved her, I wouldn't say such things."

Tony took a pull of his almost forgotten beer, and said very softly, "That's _really_ not Gill. Have you talked to Nadia?"

"She won't let me. Tony…"

"Let me say it, so you don't have to. We agree, your Mom's not well. But you can't go against her. You can't, Josh. Whatever we do to put this right, in the mean time, if you want to look her in the eye and say you're not seeing anything of me, then that's how it has to be, right?"

"I guess… " They left the rest of the beer and got up.

"We can text; I'll talk to Nadia, and Ducky… see what they say… in the meantime, try not to worry…" they were heading out to their cars by now, "We'll fix this, Josh. Oh, and next June… I _will_ be your best man."

He watched his young friend driving away, then sat in his car with his heart in his boots. This wasn't happening.

He didn't sleep well; he wasn't going to sit back and do nothing, but whatever he might do had to make things better, not worse. After a fretful night he had rolled into work early, and fallen on paperwork with an appetite that amazed him, never mind his team. He managed to spend some time alone in the archives room, where he didn't have to pretend to anyone that everything was fine; then after a brief consultation with Ducky about PTSD, 'It's not me, Ducky', 'I know that, my boy', he'd returned to his desk to open a new ruck of emails.

One was from Gill Cooper; it had spread a web of icy cold across his back, and taken hold of his guts with a giant claw.

Dear Tony,

I am glad to hear that you are out of hospital. I would like to thank you for kindly escorting myself and Claire in Princeton, however badly things worked out.

I wish that you had prevented Joshua from becoming involved; but it seems that he enjoys following your example, and taking no thought for his own safety or his family's feelings.

I appreciate your help in the past, but on reflection I feel that friendship with you is doing my son no good at all, and I shall be grateful if you will give him no encouragement in the future.

Gillian Cooper.

He had actually felt tears welling up; the sheer injustice of it to a fine young man, let alone to himself, and from a woman he admired, left him too shaken to even scuttle back to hide among the archives. He had laid his head on his arms and hoped to sleep.

**AN: Well… do I go on?**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Nadia, aged 39, has a married daughter? Tihana, the eldest of the four adopted Croatian orphans was eight when they were rescued by the Kearsage, 14 years ago.**

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 2

"Kashai was wrong, then. You're certain of that?"

"Oh, yes. My people tell me he's completely lost it whilst awaiting trial; talks of nothing else. My people also tell me that although there is early research going on into _mind helmets_ ," the speaker made quote signs, " it's _very_ early, and neither Oshiro nor Weiss are involved in any way. Their work is medical, pure and simple."

"How reliable are your sources, Christopher?"

Sigh. "We've been over this."

"So we have. I just keep needing reassurance… what's at stake here could be huge… worth billions…"

"Oh, the English capacity for exaggeration… millions maybe; enough to keep you in racehorses and the most classy of ladies – for the rest of your life."

The other man chuckled, stretching Saville Row clad legs out. "And I intend to live a very long time…"

The waiter brought more drinks, and the conversation paused; all that could be heard was the tinkling of the fountain close by, and the desultory conversation of other guests. The three men knew the hotel well enough; they paid handsomely for the knowledge that the management did their own sweeps regularly, and kept out the curious and the undesirable, but nevertheless they sat by the fountain so that the sound would mask their speech. It never hurt to be cautious.

The man who hadn't yet spoken said, "So, we know what Weiss _isn't _doing;I'm still waiting to be informed what she _is _doing. Gentlemen, why exactly are we here?"

"At this moment," the Englishman said, rising to his feet, "We're waiting for Dr. Akhmatova." The other two followed his glance and also politely rose, to greet a handsome woman whose sandy hair, high cheekbones and bright blue eyes told clearly her country of origin. She may have been in her forties, or if she had assiduously taken expensive care of her body for some years, her fifties. The waiter was prepared to bet it was the latter. She was immaculately dressed, and her attitude unconsciously suggested she expected to be deferred to as a matter of course.

"Jonathan… it is so lovely to see you again."

"And you, Zinaida; you're looking wonderful." He took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Ah, Dr. Grenville, always the English charm." She looked round at his companions. The man addressed by Grenville as Christopher nodded in polite recognition. "Mr. Woodward, I recall. We met at the technology fair in… Brussels, I believe."

"That's right. You have an excellent memory, Dr. Akhmatova."

I do indeed, the Russian woman thought. I remember you as a man I would not trust with a kilo of turnips… whatever Jonathan is up to, it must be illegal if you're involved. She kept a polite, blank smile on her face, and turned to the other man.

"This is Warren Dietrich, a sometime colleague of mine," Jonathan said. "He's based at Cornell. Doctor Zinaida Akhmatova, working in the same field as ourselves, in St. Petersburgh."

"Actually, in Berlin, these days, Jonathan. Now, your call intrigued me… what is all this about?

* * *

Tim unconsciously rubbed his upper arm as they rode down in the elevator.

Tony saw it, and said with some sympathy, "Always like that, or just end of the day ache?"

"Oh, it's healed just fine," Tim told him. "Most of the time I don't think of it."

Tony shot him the most suggestive of looks. "Can't have it like that over the weekend, McRomeo…"

"Knock it off, Tony. Remember you told me that chicks dig scars?"

"Yeah…?"

"Well Mari doesn't. Sometimes she even cries when she sees it." He kicked himself at once… it was dangerous enough letting Tony see glimpses into _his_ life, but giving away Mari's secrets was A Bad Thing. Wrong, McGee.

Tony looked at his shoes for a moment. "Well, that's different, Tim," he said quietly. "Scars you can brag about are one thing," (Hadn't he thought something like that in the hospital?) "But she saw how you got that one…" He brightened suddenly. "Tell her to remember it shows how much you care for her." A wry smile twisted his lips for a moment.

"What?" Tim asked, already bemused by the mercurial changes in his friend's mood.

"Ah, you don't really want to know. Totally inappropriate."

They said goodnight to the guard on duty, and started across to the parked cars. Tony thought he'd deflected the question successfully.

"Tony, you've been doing totally inappropriate for years. When did it last make me blush?"

"OK… I was going to say get the date tattooed underneath it… sometimes bravado's good. Depends what Marianne thinks, I suppose."

He was astonished when Tim frowned and considered it gravely, even if there was the ghost of a smile there too. "Mmm," he said. "That's not a bad idea… did you ever do that?"

"Only with my first one," Tony said morosely. "It was the only way to live with it."

"Is it that bad?"

"No, not really… but it's on my butt."

"Oh." After a while, quite surprised at Tony's odd lesson in how to cope with injury, Tim said, "Are you still hurting? I don't mean your butt." 

"Hey, no… it was only my pride that was hurt then… yeah, I ache a bit sometimes, like you. Why?"

"You've been a bit quiet all day. For you."

They'd reached the cars. Tony pulled that wry face again, and nodded. "I… I'll tell you tomorrow… to be honest, McGee, I'd drag you off to the nearest bar and bend your ear, but you've got a lovely lady to ha - go and talk to. It'll keep. Give Mari my congratulations, huh?"

"You were going to say have phone sex. Why'd you stop?" 

Tony shook his head ruefully. "Well, McUncomfortablyperceptive… I guess… I've been teasing for years. I'm congenitally incapable of stopping… but disrespect a lady? A lovely lady like Mari? Your lady? Never."

As Tim drove away, he frowned in bewilderment. Six moods in the space of a two minute conversation? Something was up with DiNozzo alright. Well, nothing he could do about it now, and he had Mari to think about, but he _would _remember to ask in the morning. He drove home thinking of white sands and heather covered mountains, and how on Saturday he was going to get a ring on Mari's finger and not take no for an answer.

Tony reached home, threw his backpack in the corner, and himself onto the sofa, where he sat staring into space for a while. He lunged forward and snatched up the house phone, and was half-way through keying in Nadia's number, when he recalled that she was away until at least Sunday night, visiting her newly-wed daughter, somewhere in Michegan. He slumped back with a sigh, closed his eyes, and stretched out on the couch. Short of going and banging on Gill Cooper's door, which he wasn't going to do until he understood things a bit better, he couldn't think of anything to do. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Terry Packer sat in the downtown bar, slouched over his whisky, his body language warning any company away; so he was surprised when the stool next to his was suddenly occupied. He didn't bother to look up, until the man next to him said, "Drinking alone, Mr. Packer? Have your friends deserted you?"

"Who's asking?"

"Oh… a friend. Of a friend. He knows you're jobless… like I said, no friends…" Packer's head jerked up and there was a mean look in his eyes, but the well-dressed man was not in the least perturbed. "My friend doesn't like to see a man suffering… and unable to get revenge… he thinks you might be just the person to undertake a project for him."

Packer tossed his scotch down, and glared belligerently; the other man signalled the barman to bring another one. "What friend, and what project? And what does he know about me and revenge?"

"The first two answers you should find out from him; the matter of revenge… you may have an opportunity to get back at the agency that cost you your job."

The man studied his prey carefully. He knew Packer's history, and when, at his last words, he saw self-righteousness and resentment settle on his face, he was pretty sure he had him. He knew the man was to blame for his own fate, and that he was incapable of accepting it… an intelligent enough man, but who only used the parts of his brain that suited him. Easy to manipulate. Good.

"Tell me more."

"I'll let my friend do that. Finish your drink." He stood up, and was disgusted but unsurprised to see that Packer tossed the second scotch after the first. Ready to go off with a stranger to meet a stranger, and with awareness reduced by drink. This guy used to lead a SWAT team? He walked out quickly, leaving Packer to hurry behind him.

* * *

The waiter came to call them to their table, so nothing more was said until the wine had been poured.

Finally, Jonathan Grenville said, "Christopher has just had an operation turn rather sour."

"Nothing that can't be recouped, Jonathan," Woodward said airily. "I've already begun, in fact." They all waited politely for him to go on.

"One of my – er – business objectives, shall we say, is extensive information gathering. On research, and the people doing it, who might be of interest to us."

"And what is it that makes people of interest to you, Mr. Woodward?" the Russian scientist asked.

"Chris, please. Jonathan tells me that you are of a similar mind to the rest of us, Dr. Akhmatova – in believing that all the major powers in the arms and technology race, should always remain at the same level. It would not be good for business if peace broke out, or if one party gained a significant advantage."

Akhmatova nodded. "Go on… Chris." She'd play nicely with this snake for now…

"I keep a close eye on many scientists who are involved in what they fondly imagine is classified work. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that a rival was also interested in this lady." He produced a small wallet, with half a dozen snapped shots of Marianne Weiss. "Imagine my team leader's delight when he found himself asked to observe the lady he was _already observing_ for me. His delight was doubled by being paid handsomely a second time for the same work."

He leaned back in his chair, and went on to relate the events leading up to, and including the night of the Graduation Ball.

"We know what went on in Professor Kashai's room;Veldt had previously wired it, and we were also able to interview one of his bodyguards in jail, and apart from my losing an entire team, the most significant things are: Firstly, Dr. Weiss managed very neatly to deflect the matter of what her classified research _was_ by making much of what it _wasn't_, and secondly, that thanks to her new-found romantic interest in Mr. McGee, for whom, I might add, she has entirely forsaken her classified work, she is now involved with, and protected by, a very formidable team from a federal agency."

He leaned forwards. "This is a matter of concern, because the research she _was_ involved in, and don't look astonished, it's my business to know these things, is the cloaking of warships. The next generation of such ships will, once it exists as a concrete thing and not as mathematical models, be protected by 'metamaterials', with the ability to bend light around an object." 

"This is well known," Akhmatova nodded. "I believe that forward-thinking scientists in the business community enabled many countries to share in that knowledge, and benefit from plans for its manufacture eventually. My own company is one such."

"And do you know how this metamaterial will be counteracted?"

"No, I do not. Do you?"

"No, but Dr. Weiss does. Or, she did. She was, until she quit, at the cutting edge of theoretical research –"

"Against something which is still a theory itself," Warren Dietrich said, speaking for the first time.

"True. But it won't stay theory for ever. Which is why I want Dr. Weiss working for _us_. We'll have the only research of its kind outside of Switzerland. I want it in the States, with us in control."

"But she has abandoned it," Jonathan Grenville said.

"She must be persuaded to reverse that decision. I've tried, through third parties, to offer her enough financial incentive to persuade most people; she remains uninterested. We must use other methods of persuasion."

Zinaida Akhmatova felt, briefly, very sorry for this innocent woman whose future was being picked over so baldly and brutally, but business was, after all, business.

"Such as?" Dietrich asked.

Woodward took out his cell phone. "Pavel… have you found Mr. Packer?... Splendid… No, let him cool his heels until we've finished our meal… I'll call you."

As he pocketed the phone again, his smile reminded Akhmatova even more forcibly of a just fed snake.

* * *

In Manhattan, Mari fell asleep with her phone in her hand and a soft smile on her face. In Washington, Tim did the same.

Tony sat up, hunched over, and ran his hands through his hair. The feeling of impending doom that he couldn't shake, meant he simply didn't sleep at all.

**AN: The course of true love never ran smoothly… Please let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 3

Mari hummed to herself as she walked out to her car; being Swiss, and green by upbringing, she'd leased a Toyota Camry hybrid to see if she liked the model. If she did, she'd buy one. So far, she was happy. She was spending her first morning getting reacquainted with old colleagues, meeting new ones, unpacking in her new office, and mostly thinking about how soon she could get away and head down to DC and Tim.

She frowned as she got to the vehicle; there was a large brown envelope tucked under the wiper. At first she thought weird advertising, but none of the other cars had one; then mistake, but no, it had her name on it. Recalling recent events, Marianne suddenly felt sick. The day seemed to cloud over.

She took the package into the car to open it; Terry Packer, watching from his own vehicle, was a little disappointed, he wanted to observe her reaction closely, but he could see enough.

He'd accepted the 'project' happily; intimidation was something he could do. He wished it was the other NCIS agent's girl he was required to do a number on; the one who cost him his job – but his team-mate would do. If this Swiss woman couldn't be persuaded by threats and coercion, maybe Special Agent Freaking DiNozzo could have an accident; if that didn't work then Special Agent Smart Alec Boyfriend McGee could be taken out of the equation. He'd only read the information given him, never met the guy, but anyone on Gibbs' team was fair game. He couldn't think of an epithet for _that_ man that didn't remind him how he'd had the shit scared out of him.

Even Woodward's business partners would have been chilled if they had listened in at the briefing. "So… you understand, your aim is to make her agree to work for me. You can use any means you wish, except for harming her physically. She's no use to me dead or in the hospital."

"No physical harm. To her. Fine."

"If you need back up, equipment or assistance, contact Pavel –"he gestured at his recruiting officer - "He will arrange whatever you need, within reason. Do not, however, try to milk the system; you're being paid well, and we don't like cheats."

Packer had tried to suppress a shudder, he'd got the message. "Don't worry about me, I can do the job."

"I'm sure you can, Mr. Packer. Goodbye. Oh, one more thing. Stay sober." Packer had been glad to get out of there.

Pavel had handed him an envelope. "Call it a starter package," he said, "Information: phone numbers, addresses… and photographs. We have people shadowing her parents, and her boyfriend. We'll see to it that she gets updates every day; we know where they are, what they're doing. You see… I'm doing your job for you already." He turned and left. Packer hurried away from the hotel, smarting somewhat; he'd been kept waiting, not even bought a drink, lectured on his drinking habits even – but he'd been handed the keys to an SUV, in his pocket sat more cash than he'd ever had his hands on in his life, and there would be more. And all for frightening a little girlie. He'd slid a long way from the idealistic young cop he'd once been; he didn't care.

Marianne sat with her head against the steering wheel. The blood had drained from her face, her heart was crashing and her stomach heaving. Her parents, sitting relaxed and laughing at a pavement café in Strasbourg; filming from the viewpoint on top of the Cathedral; Tim and Tony in paper overalls, standing in a full dumpster, grinning, jumping up and down and holding their noses. Tim sitting in his car, talking on the phone; by the smile on his face, it was _herself_ he was speaking to.

It was all starting up again… but worse. It wasn't the deranged Kashai, who'd been enough of a threat; she didn't know _whose_ emissaries they were, the people who'd contacted her in so many and varied ways, offering her the Earth to go back to defence work; but she realised at once that this was the work of the same unnamed overlord. Mutti… Papa… her darling Tim… and their irrepressible friend… she moaned softly. Her day had gone from wonderful to hell in one minute flat.

Her phone buzzed. She was afraid to answer. It wasn't Tim, thank God, but she didn't recognise the ID. "H-hello?"

"Doctor." It was an American voice. "You can see… we know where they are; all the time, all the ones you care about. It could just as easily be a rifle scope as a camera. You know that, don't you. Next time your parents climb a high building to film, it would be tragic if one of them were to go to a dangerous vantage point, where anyone could slip… we want you to work for us. Only long enough to share your knowledge, then you'd be free to go on your way. Your boyfriend would be safe…"

"Leave me alone… you don't know who you're up against."

Packer was a reasonable actor; he'd assumed a smooth persona that was nothing like his natural self. "Oh, we do. And if you tell them about it, the moment we know you have done so will be the moment when the first one dies. We'll probably start with the Italian, he matters least to you. We'll save the more important ones… for later… Think about it, Doctor." The call was terminated.

Mari couldn't even remember what she'd come down to the car for. She opened the trunk and stood, bemusedly looking at the various boxes and files, but nothing sank in. She closed it, and set off back to her office, hardly seeing the things around her. As she passed a litter bin, she thrust the photographs into it. The one of Tim in the car was quite an attractive one; but if she lived through this she didn't want it as a reminder. Packer watched her, and smiled.

* * *

Tim, who looked rested and content, met Tony, who didn't, as they parked their cars that morning. "You've been doing some thinking," he remarked, leaving Tony the opportunity to open up if he wanted to. His friend was waspish, but it was mostly turned inwards. "Well, McGenius, if you were only a Phys Ed major, and you had some serious thinking to do, you'd be a wreck by next morning, too." Tim glanced at his watch, grabbed Tony's arm and swung him round in the opposite direction. "Come on," he said. "Let's get the Boss a coffee. We've got time." By the time they arrived at the bull pen Tim had his explanation, Tony had one coffee, sugar and hazelnut laden, inside him, and was starting on his second. Tim left two on Gibbs' desk, and one on Ziva's.

"Show me this email, then." Tony, coffee or not, was in a sufficiently sorry state – _'Did I really just think that?' _ Tim asked himself – to obey without comment. He studied it, while Tony tried not to look at the words on the screen, distress leaking out of the planes of his jaw. "That's cold," Tim said, "And unfair. And like you said, not like Gill. This reply… are you going to go ahead with it?"

"She might delete it without reading it; whatever, I can't go letting her think I don't care."

"OK, shall I leave you to it? Or d'you want a second opinion?"

Tony sighed. "Comes to something when I need someone else to stop me putting my foot in it, McCounsellor…" 

"Tony," his friend said sharply, "This is NOT your fault!" He saw that Tony was still averting his eyes from the text, and gave his chair a shove. "Move over. Right. You speak… I'll write. Dear Gill…?"

"Yeah…Dear Gill… er… I will of course respect your wishes… but…Josh is my friend… and…and so are you, and you both always will be. I understand that … er…that recent events have been… a great strain… but in time I hope you'll reconsider….no, that's too businessy… er, hope you'll change your mind. Is that too spineless? OK… If there's anything I can do, please let me know. Love, Tony."

He stopped, and looked at Tim, whose finger was poised over the send button. He couldn't even find the words to ask if that was good enough; he just spread his hands in mute appeal. Tim nodded and sent the message, and deleted the original before Tony could look again. He then permanently deleted it, having visions of Tony recalling it to beat himself up with.

The SFA said quietly, "Thanks, McGee," as Tim came out of the emails program.

"Not. Your. Fault."

"What is not Tony's fault, McGee?" Trust Ziva to have picked that up. Tim shook his head in a 'leave it' kind of way; but Gibbs also had hearing like a bat. He looked at the expression on DiNozzo's face, then asked anyway.

"Something wrong?"

Tony squared his shoulders, and explained; Gibbs listened, his frown intensifying. He nodded thoughtfully. "McGee's right. Not your fault. Probably Claire, not Josh… momma tiger, smallest cub maybe… ya talked to Ducky?"

"Yeah. He said not to desert her. I wouldn't."

"Nadia?"

"She's the one I need… but she's not back until Sunday night. I didn't want to tell Josh about it; think I'll have to."

Gibbs nodded again. "Do that now, then." He changed modes. "Then let's get last night's leftovers done with sharpish, before we pull another case." He saw the coffee on his desk and raised his eyebrows in question; Tony pointed a finger at McGee. The Boss raised a cup in a salute of thanks, and the working day began.

Tim went to his own station, and powered up; as he sorted hand-written notes, he dived into his own inbox. There was a short, happy good morning from Marianne; he replied quickly, hoping the Boss thought he was writing up. If he thought otherwise, he didn't let on.

Tony worked diligently, and, for him, quietly. Ziva kept looking across at him, and was aware every time he broke off from what he was doing and moved his cursor from bottom to top of the screen. She was going to tell him to stop it, pick a quarrel, anything to distract him, but she saw his eyes widen, and she thought for a moment that he'd received another unpleasant message, until he looked guiltily sideways at Tim, and nodded.

'_Did you just tell him to stay out of his inbox?'_

'_Yep.'_

'_Good idea.'_

They didn't catch a case; Tony wished they had done, and then thought that a late night could spoil things for Tim, so he sucked it up, and pulled some cold case files to study. Ziva ordered him to go with her to fetch lunch, and got the first smile all day out of him. They talked about yesterday's case; Dr. Rankin; Tim and Mari; anything but Gillian, and Tony was grateful for the distraction and the concern.

When they got back, however, they found that Tim was the distracted one. He was walking back from the corner behind the staircase where everyone went for their private phone conversations, looking at his cell with a mystified frown.

"What is wrong, McGee? Will it not talk to you?" Ziva teased cheerfully as she handed him his lunch.

"No, not any more," he said. "Mari didn't seem herself. I've never known her want to cut a conversation short before… and she never forgets to say – never mind; I guess her first day in her new job's a bit stressful. I wonder if I ought to go to New York tonight instead of asking her to come down here."

"We are on call this weekend, Tim."

"We could cover for you," Tony said, "Work a three man team if we're needed."

Tim shook his head. "Somewhere along the line, if I want to keep Mari and go on doing this job well, I've got to learn to juggle," he said. "I'll call her again later."

Tony thought of Josh's perceptive comment the previous night, and suddenly felt depressed again. Good luck with that, McGee. He didn't think that Gill would appreciate seeing his highly recognisable car anywhere near her house, but he made a note to ask Ziva if she'd mind driving by on her way home, just to check.

* * *

Tim locked the Porsche and then the garage door; as he walked the short distance to the front door, he got _that_ feeling again. He stopped and looked round, but saw nothing, just as at the airport those weeks ago. There were several cars parked up and down the street, and a few had tinted windows; he wasn't sure which he'd seen before and which not – but he'd be sure in future. _'You're just feeling weird,'_ he told himself, _'It's because you're worried about Mari.'_

When he'd phoned again, she'd been trying to put a brave face on things, but even down the phone he could hear how brittle she sounded. He put a casserole in the oven; it wouldn't spoil if Mari was later than she said she'd be, and it spread an appetising smell that he hoped would please her. He turned the lights down low in case she had a headache from driving, and lit perfumed candles in the bathroom and bedroom.

'_There you go, McFlowerpower,' _he heard Tony's voice teasing in his head, _'getting in touch with your feminine side…'_ he blew a mental raspberry, and put Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp to play softly in the background. He'd never had to cope with his lovely, sunny girl in anything but a blithe mood before, except for the kidnapping of course, and this was new territory for him; he wasn't going to be found wanting.

He heard her key in the lock, and went to greet her; she was wearing a smile that could only be described as brave. "Liebchen…" he pulled her gently into his arms. "You made good time. How d'you like the Camry?"

"It's good, Tim. I really like…" she clung to him frantically and began to cry.

He held her, and muttered reassurances into her hair, as she sobbed, and apologised and sobbed some more. He could only think of one thing to do; he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed and stretched himself alongside her, she sat up with a jerk, pushing her hands against his chest.

"No… Tim, I don't – I can't… not now –"

He was hurt, but he didn't let it show. "Hey… that's not what we're here for. Sssh. Lie down now. Come…"

"Tim, I'm sorry…" she muttered into his shirt, and cried herself to sleep.

Tim blew the scented candle out; the smell of hyacinths suddenly made his stomach roil. He lay cradling her in his arms, staring at the ceiling, and wondered what the hell to do. He remembered Tony's anxiety, indecision and pain that morning, and thought, "DiNozzo, I know exactly how you feel."

**AN: More angst ahead for both boys… my daughter asked me if I ever wrote anything but misery. You could let me know if you want a wedding at the end – whenever we finally get there – but I'm not much good at the sappy stuff. Review??**


	4. Chapter 4

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 4

Tony wanted to get out of the city. He wasn't a particularly outdoor type, but the world seemed to be closing in around him, and his sense of unease was deepening. Ziva had been more than willing to drive by the Coopers' home, but there was nothing to report. Gill's GMC was in the drive, the blinds were drawn, and Ziva could not tell whether or not there were lights on in the house.

"I will drive by again in the morning," she told him, and he thanked her.

"Have you ever been to the Blue Ridge Mountains, Zi?"

She was surprised at the sudden change of subject. "No, I have not. I have heard of them; why do you ask?"

"Oh… I really wish I could get out and breathe some good fresh air. If we weren't on call this weekend… I'd say come and walk in the mountains with me; blow off the cobwebs, recharge the batteries." He paused, uncertain why he was talking this way, and Ziva stepped into the uncertainty.

"I think that these events have hit you hard, Tony. But one weekend when we are not on duty, I will walk in the mountains with you. Goodnight."

"G'night, Zi." He sat looking at the phone for a moment, then recalled that he still had stuff to bring up from the Mustang. He pushed himself up off the couch, and went down to his parking slot. As he approached the car, he thought he saw movement to his left, at the corner of the apartment building. When he looked that way there was no-one there, but he still went cautiously towards the spot, wishing he was wearing his gun.

There was no-one in sight round the corner, and he stood for a moment, frowning. "Just because you're paranoid…" he didn't bother to finish the quotation. He retrieved dirty washing, ( in spite of the paper coverall, the dumpster diving he'd done with McGee two days ago had put stringy cheese and tomato puree from a dead pizza on his favourite jeans,) and a cold case file that still intrigued him, from the trunk, and went back to his flat.

The next day Ziva turned up as he was washing the Mustang. He was surprised, but pleased to see her, and said so. She helped him to quickly dry the car off, then accepted his offer of a cold drink, knowing that he'd realised why she'd come; what she had to tell him was better face to face than on the phone.

She leaned on his kitchen counter as he poured ginger beer. He handed it to her, his head on one side, with a tight, anxious expression.

"I drove by Gillian's house again," she said levelly, knowing he wasn't going to like what he heard. "The shades were drawn, just as last night. I could do nothing, so I drove away, and I saw the curtain move as I looked in my mirror. I turned the corner, and a little way down the road, I saw Claire walking with a friend. She waved, so I stopped. She asked if I'd seen her mom. I explained what I'd seen, and she almost cried. She said she had stopped overnight with her friend, and was going to tonight as well, because her mother was being difficult…"

"_I should be with her,"_ Claire had said, _"I know that. But she won't listen to me, just keeps telling me that Josh has gone, and asking me if I want to go too. She sits there with her favourite photo of Dad on her knee, and won't open the curtains."_

"_Do you think you should call your family doctor?"_ Ziva had asked.

"_She won't let me. I'm going round to talk to her, Ginny's coming with me; but if she's just the same I'm going back to Ginny's until Nadia gets back. I've called her. She says she'll come back as quickly as she can. But she can't come until tomorrow, although now she's worried too."_

"_Where is Josh?"_

Now Claire _did_ burst into tears. _"He'd already arranged to go to see Anne-Marie's parents before all this happened; but he was angry about something when he left, and it was after that that Mom really lost it. I called him and asked him to come back, but I don't know if he really understands how bad it is. I think he thinks she's just doing it to get his attention."_

"I told her that I was going to see you, and that you would probably come –"

"Why didn't she call _me?_" Tony burst out. He put his glass down half full and grabbed his jacket, badge and gun.

"I will come with you," Ziva said. Tony bit his bottom lip, and nodded, and they ran down to the Mustang.

Claire's friend opened the front door. "This is Ginny," Ziva said, thinking that no way should two fifteen year olds be having to deal with this.

Gillian looked up briefly as Tony and Ziva entered the living room. She was sitting on the same couch where he'd first seen her, sitting hugging her daughter the day her husband was killed. The same couch where he'd hugged_ her_ the day he told her that they'd got the colonel's killer. Her eyes were dull, and they went straight back to the photograph.

"I don't want you here."

"You need someone here, Gill. You can't want the girls to have to handle this, can you?" He was gentle and chivvying, but she wasn't hearing.

"There's nothing to handle. I don't need you. My husband's gone. My son's gone. Go away."

Tony wondered if he understood the real trigger then; Gill had been brave beyond belief for her children's sakes, but had never let any of them - children, Marines, friends - with all their best of intentions, see what was really in her mind. She'd lost her husband; she had almost lost her son to bad guys, and now she was about to lose him anyway as he looked for a home with his wife to be. He knelt in front of her.

"Gill, you'll never lose Josh. You –"

"You'll get him killed. I don't want him to see you. I don't want you. _Go away!"_

"I can't leave you like this, Gill…"

"I don't want you here, you or your little spy. Get out!" She pushed him away hard, and from his unbalanced squat he went to sitting on the carpet.

"Mom!" Josh was standing in the doorway; Anne-Marie was with him – clear confirmation to Gill of how life was to be. In her state, she saw that as loss, not gain.

"Why have you come back? You left me! And you let _him_ come here!" she yelled at her son. "You brought him here. And her!" Tony thought she meant Ziva, but she was pointing at Anni. Ziva drew Claire to one side, asked for the doctor's number, and began keying in, as Josh took Tony's place in front of his mother. "I don't want him here. Get him out. And her." This time it _was_ aimed at Ziva. "Get them out! Get them out!"

Josh sat on the couch and wrapped his arms round Gill, trying to find the right words to keep her calm, but she was too sunk in her own pain to heed much. Tony got up out of her line of sight, and said softly, "We'll stay until the doctor comes if you need us to, Josh, but we're upsetting her by being here." His anguished look wasn't lost on his young friend. "We were –"

"Trying to help. I know that. We'll be fine. I'll call you."

"We will take Ginny back," Ziva told Claire, and both girls nodded. The helpful young friend looked shocked and upset, and was clearly glad to leave. Ziva perched on the back of the Mustang as Tony drove slowly the short distance to the teenager's house. He knew in his heart that Josh hadn't meant his dismissal to be so abrupt – he had other things to think about, but knowing it did nothing to relieve the anxiety and pain in his heart.

"That's the doctor's car," Ginny said reassuringly as a vehicle went by in the opposite direction.

Tony nodded, as he stopped outside her house. "Thank you," he said. "I'll ask Claire to keep you updated. Hey, I'm sure she was glad to have you there." They watched her go into her house as Ziva dropped into the seat.

She looked at her partner and read his mind. "It was not. your. fault. McGee said it. Now I am saying it."

"I've had three years to notice something…"

"So has everyone else. It could be that there was nothing to notice until recent events caused this illness. That is what it is, Tony. You cannot prevent someone, even a friend, from becoming ill. Now, we must simply do what we can to aid her recovery." She reached over and squeezed his hand as it gripped the steering wheel, which made him look at her and blink. "Shall we risk pizza and a movie? My treat, your choice of film? If we are called in, we could take Gibbs a slice."

Tony thought he should just sit and think about what had just happened, but he had to admit that Ziva was right. "My treat, _your_ choice of movie," he said. "Your company," he went on with a vocal flourish, "will be enough for me."

Somewhere during the third movie, he fell asleep on her shoulder; she'd noticed over the years that this was the particular fugue he seemed to use as a defence against pain, and she approved. It was a better defence than some… She eased out from under him, lowering him gently down, switched the movie off and put a throw over him. She wrote him a cheerful note, and after throwing the pizza carton into the recycling box, she left quietly and drove away.

The phone brought him up from sleep; he thought Gibbs, case… but it was Josh. The doctor had sedated Gill and sent her to hospital; she remained sedated. It was the weekend, 9pm on a Saturday night; they couldn't do much in the way of testing until Monday. He was sorry he'd been abrupt, really sorry, and no, Tony shouldn't come, they were simply sitting with her, waiting; nothing to do but wait…. "If I need anything, Tony, I'll call."

"Promise, Josh."

"I promise." Tony read the note from Ziva, smiled a little, changed his clothes, picked up the cold case file and went into work.

He slept behind his desk, and stayed in the bull pen all through Sunday, there were no cases; Josh updated, no change, but Nadia was there. Tony looked at the small pile of useful leads that he'd built up to follow through on tomorrow, but still he felt inadequate. He sighed and went home.

Monday morning he was early; he reflected with a snort that he'd probably not have even bothered to go back to his apartment but for the fact that he'd no wish to sleep in the same lot of clothes a second time. He didn't think the team would care for it much either. The elevator dinged; he expected Gibbs, but it was McGee. They stood looking at each other in shock. They both looked as bad as each other.

Finally, Tony said, "Well, who goes first?"

Tim looked at him with a face full of utter misery. "Not in the mood for jokes, Tony."

"Nobody's joking." He hitched himself on the edge of his colleague's desk, and waited. It was some time before Tim spoke, and Tony was astonished at his frankness. To Gibbs, maybe… but to him?

"She arrived in a state. She cried, I hugged her, she thought I wanted sex and said no, I held her while she cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, she didn't want to eat – the food was ruined anyway – she didn't want to talk about it, she said it was work problems." 

"Already?"

"That's what I said. Mari said she hadn't been expecting problems, they'd come as a shock. She kept apologising, but nothing I could do would raise a smile. She didn't want to go out…" He looked up at Tony, resolving to say the next bit since it had to be said now he'd started letting go, and put on a defiant glare. "I took her to bed, I only meant it to be just for the comfort; I wondered if being that close would help her relax…"

"Comfort sex," Tony said quietly. "It sometimes works…"

"It bloody didn't. Afterwards she seemed to think that I'd got what I wanted and didn't care about her."

Tony winced, and spoke nothing but the truth. "I can't think of a man less likely to do that, McGee. Why…"

Tim rubbed his hand over his face. "I'd been intending to take her into town and get a ring on her finger. I'd have sold the Porsche if I'd had to, to get her whatever she chose. There was no point in even mentioning the subject, the state she was in. I tried all through Saturday to get her to open up. On Sunday, I offered to go back to Cornell with her, and help her to sort things out. Apparently I was an idiot for thinking that I could…"

"_It's the __**weekend,**__ Tim… there'll be nobody there to talk to."_

"_I'll come up tomorrow, then."_

"_**No! **__I keep telling you, you can't help. Just forget it, Tim. It'll all blow over."_

"_OK… if that's what you want."_

Mari had cringed inside, although there was no way for Tim to know it. She was ashamed of how she was treating him; the bewilderment and pain on his good-looking, open face was killing her, but every time she thought of being close to him, she remembered that the closer they were, the more he was likely to come to harm. She lashed out.

"_Yes, it's what I want. Why is that so hard to understand?"_

"_I'm worried about you."_

"_I told you, I'll sort it out."_

She had marched into the bedroom and started throwing her things back into her case. He had stood in the doorway.

"_Mari… don't go. We can make it right. Stay…"_

The long rasp of the zipper closing on her case had been the most horribly final sound.

"_It's best if I go back to New York, Tim."_

"She stormed out – barely said goodbye… I called, I messaged, I emailed… I finally called Smarty… remember, the concierge? He said she'd got back safely, but she'd seemed in a mood, and wouldn't stop to talk. Wanted to know what _I'd _done to upset her!" He came to an abrupt halt, his distress palpable. After a while, he said, "You?"

Tony explained in as few words as possible, but turned the subject back as quickly as he could. "Gillian's ill. If Mari is, it's come on impossibly quickly. Something's happened."

"That's what she _said_. Work problems." _Ouch, McGee, sharp…tone it down._

"No… more than that."

"What d'you mean?"

"Think about it, McGee. She loves you enough to give up her Swiss work, to come to this country to be with you. So it's not you. If the _work_ she's doing causes problems, she can walk away; there are plenty of people who'd want her, right?"

"Right… where are you going with this?"

"You're not the problem. Work's not the problem. What is?"

"Don't talk in riddles, Tony – I can't deal right now."

"I mean it's all starting up again. What d'you know about her classified work?"

"What?? That's crazy. She isn't doing classified work any more."

"Are you sure? Has she told you so?"

"DiNozzo…" Tim's voice shot up in protest. "You're saying she's keeping secrets from me?"

Tony's voice was very quiet, apologetic even. "I've only read the report of what she said to Kashai. She concentrated on ridiculing what she wasn't doing; never had to say a word about what she _was _working on. You were there, Tim… it was classic deflection. She was good…"

"_You bastard!"_

**AN: I'm afraid I've done it again. I wanted to get the big argument all into one chapter, but I've miscalculated – par for the course with me. Sorry about the cliffie; it's 1am and I've got work in the morning. I'll update soon as I can.**


	5. Chapter 5

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 5

"I have to return to Berlin tonight," Akhmatova was saying at the breakfast table. "I should have liked to have something positive to take with me." She flicked a sideways glance under her lids at Dr. Grenville as she spoke; the waiter wondered if they had spent a pleasant night together… the Russian woman was perhaps old enough to be the Englishman's mother, but he'd seen stranger combinations in his time working here. If he did but know it, Woodward was wondering the same thing; Dietrich didn't care. He knew what his part in all this was.

"I'm returning to Cornell this morning," he said neutrally. "You can keep me informed there, Mr. Woodward." He had as little regard for the businessman as Akhmatova did, and wasn't ever going to call him by his first name.

"I have all the time in the world;" Grenville said, "But you know, Chris, I tend to get bored easily… and when that happens, I do become a little impatient."

Woodward banged the coffee pot down. "We've scarcely begun;" he said defensively. "Dr. Weiss was contacted last night, but her attitude remains the same. Pavel contacted his ex-cop this morning and told him to up the pressure. We'll see what the day brings."

* * *

Bastard… Tony winced. He'd never turned a hair all the times he'd been called that over the years; but then, he'd never been called it by anyone he cared about before.

Tim was on his feet. "Are you saying she's _lying_ to me, Tony? Calling my lady a liar? Is that what you're getting at?"

"I said deflecting, Tim…"

"You heard her. We were all here. Right here in this room, and she said, 'I wouldn't lie to you. There's nothing to steal.' She's not lying. What the hell's got into you?"

Tony was stung. "Into me? You tell me, what's got into Mari? Are you saying now that there's nothing _wrong?_ Because that's not what you looked like when you walked in. It's not what you were saying two minutes ago, McGee; how d'you expect me to react?"

"I expect you to support me!"

"Well…" very quietly, "that's what I'm trying to do here, Tim."

"By calling Mari a liar! That's your idea of support?"

Ow… unfair, Tim thought. If he hadn't just spent one of the most miserable nights of his entire life, he might have listened more clearly. He might have bitten back some of his anger before he released it. If Tony, thinking frantically about everything Tim had said since he arrived, had had more time to reflect, he might not have put things so baldly. But having started, he didn't see how he could _not_ tell things as he saw them. The problem was, he truthfully didn't think his assessment of the situation was wrong. He stopped for a moment to reconsider, mind racing, and still came up with the same conclusions.

"She may not be lying. _Or, _she may have been _ordered _to lie about it by whatever department she was researching for – for all we know that's a condition of quitting classified work!"

Tim snorted derisively. "S'truth, DiNozzo, you're making this up as you go along! We _know_ what her work was."

"Do we, Tim? I told her what I thought, and she said yes. Now I think about it, the pulse thing is too far-fetched altogether… I actually half thought so then… It was so easy for her to agree, and get us off her back… Deflection again. She may not have lied, Tim," he went on earnestly, "but she isn't telling the truth."

"She wasn't deflecting. Or lying. Will you listen to yourself… It's you that's thinking far-fetched… Are you really so hung up on your movies that you're becoming a conspiracy theorist?"

Tony closed his eyes momentarily. "Shit, McGee," he said finally, "I may be hung up on a lot of things, but _how else do you account for it?"_

"Her work –"

"We already agreed, it's not that –"

"_You _agreed, dammit –"

"Whatever! We – alright, I – also agreed it wasn't you – "he looked round to check that they were the only ones there, and took a deep breath. "Back in May, you came to me, remember?" He unconsciously rubbed the spot where Veldt's bullet had struck him. "How is this any different?"

"Of course it's different. She's not being watched now… she's upset about something at work, and you decide she's a liar! _You _told _me_ she wasn't some criminal mastermind. You told me! Remember?" He threw Tony's words back at him, and turned away, clenching his fists. "So now how's _that _any different?" Tony hesitated. "Well?"

Tony wished later that he hadn't answered that question. "Last night," he said finally… "I went out to my car, and I was pretty sure there was someone watching me." Wrong thing to say…

Tim glared, speechless, for a moment, then lost it completely. "For freak's own bloody sake, DiNozzo, why does it always have to be about you?"

Tony's jaw worked for a moment before he got anything out. That hurt. He resolutely kept his hand away from the scar on his chest. Shoulder. Hellsakes… He _wasn't _playing for sympathy. "Well… I was involved last time, Tim…"

"Well, you're not this time… there isn't a this time to be involved in. So don't _in-volve_ yourself!"

He pushed the SFA out of the way hard, and began to head towards the men's cloakroom. Tony had one last try. "Tim… if you don't want my help – er – Gibbs…"

"What, you're going to stiff on me to him?"

"No," he said furiously… "You _ought_ to tell him… but you won't; and now you've fixed it that I can't either. Can't be a sneak, can I?" He paused, his shoulders slumped and his voice softened again. "Tim… why the hell did you tell me about it if…" Tim had gone.

Tony sat down at his desk with a huff as all the air went out of him. Some friend, DiNozzo… of course he'd tell you, you were the only one here. He's worried sick, and he had to tell someone. Yeah, some friend… he was looking for some sort of comfort or reassurance, and what did you give him? A lot of grief. Fact remains, though, the odds are that you're right… and now you've fixed it that you can't do anything about it. Nice work.

He opened his messaging program, and typed off: 'I said that all badly. Mari hasn't done anything wrong.' At least, he thought, I can't believe she would… 'But she will if she doesn't trust you.' He left it at that, and started finding things to do.

Ziva came in, greeted him cheerfully, and then noticed the dead whiteness of his face. "Tony, are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine, Zi." She raised a perfect eyebrow. "O-kay… I'm not. But I can't talk about it. Not won't – _can't._"

She was about to remonstrate when Tim came back into the bull pen. His stride was defensive, as in attack is the best form… he threw himself down in his seat with a clipped 'good morning' to Ziva, and powered up. After a few minutes, his fingers rattled over his keys. 'Stay out of it. Stay away from me.'

Tony closed his eyes briefly. He was sick of reading bad stuff on his screen, deleted it quickly, and sat with his head bowed. Another message arrived. 'Then I will ask Tim.'

He looked up at her, eyes wide. 'NO! He'll tell you if he wants to. Please, Zi, leave it at that.'

"Gear up! Dead sailor!" Gibbs arrived from the direction of Autopsy, dropped his coffee cup in the bin and headed straight for the elevator. The atmosphere inside the stainless steel box hit Gibbs straight away. As they headed for the car, he said, "So, DiNozzo, feel like explaining?"

Tim, three strides ahead, braced himself.

"Can't, Boss. Truthfully. My problem… mine to fix. Please?"

Gibbs peered at him closely. "It going to affect your work?"

The answer was quiet, sad and almost hurt. "You know me better than that, Boss."

Tim climbed in the back of the sedan; brought up short by what he'd heard. So Tony was serious about not… come on, McGee… he wouldn't, you know that. He sank into thought.

I always thought he liked Mari… he introduced us… I thought he was happy for me… why's he calling her a liar? Why did he say those terrible things? Mari's not like that. She'd never lie to me… deflect… he's got it completely wrong… he ought to think before he speaks… she _wouldn't_…

"McGee? _McGee?_ We're here." It was Tony speaking; he realised he was being chivvied to get out of the car before Gibbs noticed he was still sitting there. He got out without a word, and went to where Ducky was inspecting the body. Tony fetched the evidence kit from the trunk, and set it down nearby, and as Ziva began to photograph the scene, he went into work mode and started to look round.

The building had been a factory, making cheap furniture; there were remnants of chipboard, moquette and fake leather all around the place. The factory had closed, and was about to be torn down, and the fabric of the building was not in good repair. There was a hole in the roof, about twenty feet up, and the young man below it had a broken neck, as well as other injuries consistent with a fall.

Forensics would establish whether or not a crime had been committed, but at the moment, it seemed that Seaman Wall, home on leave, was hoping to augment his income with a spot of petty pilfering. Whether he'd been looking for a rooflight as a way in, or actually _stealing_ the roof, they didn't yet know, but it seemed a sad waste of a life, either way. Tony found himself thinking of the young criminal, Paul Ware, snuffed out so casually in a grand ballroom he'd never have afforded to dance in, which led him to think of Gillian. He sighed; for a moment he felt quite overwhelmed - seemed he couldn't do right for doing wrong, and he forced his mind back onto the matter in hand.

Outside, he found Tim squatting, examining a large sheet of fibreboard; there was a scrap of blue denim attached to it. He asked Tony, politely and professionally, if the sailor's jeans were torn. Tony squatted beside him, and answered, professionally and politely, that yes, they were, across a knee.

"I figure that climbing up all these piles of rubbish was his way into the building," Tim said. Tony stood up to take a look, and not a second later, a bullet slammed into the chipboard where his head had just been, sending splinters and puffs of dust into the air.. His gun was out in a flash, he ducked behind the board and scanned the area. He couldn't see anything, but he heard a moan, from Tim.

"Aaah…" the younger agent screwed his eyes up in pain, as he felt the effect of having them filled with sharp, dirty debris.

He raised his fists to scrub at them, when his wrists were grabbed by hands too strong to resist, and an urgent voice, flat with authority, said, "No! You'll do more harm than good."

"I gotta…"

"Scratch your corneas to hell… sure you have." One arm was pulled over DiNozzo's shoulder. "Just keep'em still and walk." Tim let himself be led, heard a car door open, and was pushed down into a seat, his legs still outside the car. The urgent voice spoke again. "Just don't _do_ anything, OK? Don't touch your eyes. I'm not going anywhere."

Tim heard the trunk being opened, and Ziva's voice. "Tony – what happened?"

"Gunshot… tell you later, get Ducky, Zi. McGee, which eye's worst?" 

"Left… aaah… gotta –"

"No. Turn your head to the left." He felt his chin grabbed and his head turned firmly. A pair of fingers pulled his eyelids apart, and he felt the contents of a sterile eyewash pod being poured across his eyeball, then another one. "Still don't rub." His head was gently turned the other way, and the other eye dealt with. Tears mixed with the saline running down his face, but it hurt a lot less.

"Ducky… can you check? Is there any more rubbish left in there? Has he scratched anything? I don't really know what to look for, I - McGee, _don't freaking rub!_"

Ducky's calming voice washed over him. "Anthony is right, dear boy… rubbing does more harm than good. Mr Palmer, if you'd be so kind, fetch – ah!" A magnifying glass was already being proffered. "I will give you something for the pain and the irritation in a moment, just open this eye, please… yes… look up… and down. Good. The other eye now… ah, a swab if you would, Mr. Palmer… hold still now, there's just a tiny speck here… there."

As Ducky put drops into Tim's eyes, that proved to be wonderfully soothing, Tony's anxious voice said, "Did I do it right, Ducky? I mean, we learn what to do in First Aid classes, but I've never had to _do _it for real…"

"You did exactly right," Ducky said. "Your prompt action ensured there are no scratches to the corneas or conjunctiva. Timothy will be as right as ninepence in an hour or so… when the irritation has completely worn off." He taped a couple of soft pads over Tim's eyes, and dried the fluid from his face. "Now, my boy, you clearly can't assist with the case just now, so- " he swung Tim's legs into the car - "why don't you rest for a while, and you'll soon feel more the thing."

"Thanks, Ducky. Tony –"

"Oh, Anthony's gone back to help with the case; I believe they're trying to find some trace of the person who shot at you."

"Oh."

Tim felt suddenly rather forlorn. He sat still, resisting the urge that was still there, to rub furiously. Ducky's voice re-ran in his mind. 'Anthony is right…'

No… he's not… she _wouldn't _lie… so why did he say she did, and then say she hadn't done anything wrong? She wouldn't lie for her own gain… but how about for someone else's? Whose? No, that doesn't make any sense either… he moaned faintly; he wished he understood all this. But he wanted to thank Tony for his prompt action at least, and now, he was pretty sure… or it might have been guilt talking… his friend was avoiding him.

They found no trace of the shooter; although they retrieved the bullet from the board, it had splintered everything around it, so they were unable to get a trajectory and find a shooting position. Gibbs was growly. Nobody shot at his people and got away with it.

They could see no motive to speak of, and Ziva put it into words, as they were back in the car, leaving the scene."Oh, look, there are some feds. I just happen to be passing by with this gun; I do not like feds, let me do some target practise. It seems unlikely. Why would anyone wish to shoot Tim?"

Tim, still in the front seat where Ducky had left him, still with the pads over his eyes, heard Tony sigh softly. "Zi, I was squatting, leaning forward. I stood up, and the bullet struck where my head had been. I don't want to be egocentric here," Tim winced – "But it was aimed at me."

**AN: I wanted Tony to be in the right, but not entirely blameless in the temper losing department, and Tim to be wrong-headed – because of lurve – but not a complete idiot. I wrote it three times – please review.**


	6. Chapter 6

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 6

Tim sat at his desk, in darkness. He had taken the pads off to see his way back from the car, and hadn't actually walked into anything. In spite of his somewhat blurred vision, he'd seen Tony step forward to guide him, then hesitate, step back and leave the job to Ziva. In spite of the anger he could still feel, even though he'd pushed it away into a mental corner, that actually hurt. Things between him and his friend were good and screwed.

When he'd reached his station, Ducky had administered more analgesic drops, put fresh pads in place, and told him to leave them there for as long as he could. The others had grouped round his desk, so as to include him in the discussion which had been going round in circles since Tony had first made his remark. They'd mostly remained quiet in the car, since it was quite pointless trying to discuss anything with Gibbs when he was in Grizzly-Meets-Indyracer mode, but since then, with a brief pause while Ducky attended to Tim's eyes, and Tony hovered like an anxious nanny, they'd theorised, and come up with nothing.

"That's because there's nothing to come up with, I guess," Tony said, answering Ziva's remark. "It could have been me they were after; it could have been McGee but they had a better line on me… could have been you or Gibbs but they just got plain sick of waiting for you to come outside. Only thing I can say I'm certain of, it _was_ meant as a kill shot. Someone's after us again."

He went into languid Noel Coward territory for a moment. "One does get so _bored_ with all this… We all have to watch each other, Boss. Every damn time we leave the building."

Gibbs' phone buzzed. "What you got, Abbs?... Gotcha." He snapped the cell shut. "Slug was a standard 45, American manufacture, fit any number of assault rifles. But he only fired once. Why?"

"Out of effective rapid-fire range?" Ziva suggested. 

"Lost his target? I took cover, Tim was already in a covered position," Tony suggested.

"Chicken?" Tim asked? "Didn't want to hang around?" Since he was tired, upset, reasonably sure he wouldn't get head-slapped in his condition, and couldn't see Gibbs' body-language anyway, he risked sarcasm.

"Or," Gibbs said thoughtfully, "He had the gun on single fire because whether he managed to kill or not, he only ever intended one shot. He knew there'd be no point in attempting anything else; if he knew who he was shooting at he'd know we're sharp enough to take cover and then take action."

"It could have…"

Tony trailed off again, acutely sensitive to that egocentricity label, and it was Tim who finished off, "Could have been a warning."

"But if it _was_ meant as a kill shot…" before they left the scene Tony had demonstrated the position of his head in relation to the board at the moment before he had straightened up; "And I am in agreement with you on that, Tony," Ziva went on, "It was not meant as a warning to _you._" She took a step closer to him and regarded him earnestly. "You were meant to die as a warning to somebody else." Her brown eyes looked into his, and there was a depth of anxiety there that he hadn't seen since the Domino fiasco.

He looked at her sadly for a few moments, during which Gibbs waited impatiently, and Tim got frustrated and pulled the eye pads off. "Who's killing _me_ supposed to bother, Zi?" he asked very softly, and sloped off back to his desk. She followed him, haranguing, but in an equally soft voice. As Gibbs looked back at them, he saw that Ziva had her hands on Tony's shoulders, and although he was sitting stiffly, he was making no attempt to evade her touch.

"I cannot believe you are saying such a thing… what has happened today to make you so miserable? Gillian will…" Gibbs stopped listening; for now those two had to deal with each other. His gut was telling him to look elsewhere.

"McGee – with me. Let Ducky tell you if you're OK to do that." The elevator down to autopsy was not as used as the general one to being stopped abruptly, and it vibrated for several seconds after it jerked indignantly to a halt. Tim had anticipated that this was Gibbs' real intention, and braced himself.

"So… something DiNozzo tells me he _can't _tell me… then he gets shot at. Two things I can't stand – one's people telling me something's a coincidence, and the other's _being kept in the dark!_" He waited, glaring.

Tim sighed, and braced himself. "Boss… it's my problem, no-one else's…"

The glare zapped him between the eyes. "And if DiNozzo gets killed because you go on believing that, McGee?"

"They're not connected, Boss…" The head-slap was sudden and stinging.

"Didn't I just say- "

"OK, Boss…" Tim sighed. "I had a – I fell out with Mari over the weekend. Someone at work's bugging her. I offered to go back to New York with her and help her to sort it out, but she wasn't having it. Nothing I could do was right. She left on Sunday afternoon, and hasn't answered any of my calls since then. I don't know if she's broken up with me."

Gibbs waited. "I told Tony. I expected… I don't know, he's more experienced with women than I am… I kinda thought he'd be able to tell me what to do. All he had to say was that he thought she was lying to me. Deflecting…" His voice trailed away, and he felt himself going pale. That wasn't altogether fair… Tony _had _listened first, and tried to find some comfort for him - but what he'd been going to say about secret work fled from his mind, as he suddenly realised what he thought Tony had been trying to tell him. The real reason why Mari didn't want him to go back to Cornell with her.

"I think he was hinting she'd got someone else, Boss…" Why hadn't he _realised_? And why the hell did Tony have to pussy-foot around the subject? He recalled briefly that he'd got mad enough with what DiNozzo _had_ said, and granted that there, at least, he was being unreasonable. He hadn't felt this out of control of his life since waiting to be interrogated by the local cops when – no, don't bring that up. Concentrate.

He rubbed his hand over his face. "Look, Boss, I fell out big time with Tony, and I'll have to work to get it back to normal, but I _really_ can't see how this has to do with someone taking a shot at him."

Gibbs thought about it, and although his blue eyes looked hard into Tim's, there was a glimmer of compassion there. "O-kay… ya don't think you were a bit hard on DiNozzo? He couldn't say what you actually wanted to hear."

"Yeah… maybe… but he said she _lied_, Boss." In his distress, he didn't seem to be able to let go of that thought.

"Are you fit to drive, Tim?" The about face and the first name made him blink.

"Sure, Boss."

"Go to New York, then. See if you can talk to her. We'll take care of things here. Keep me posted."

"Well…er… yes, er…thanks, Boss."

When the elevator reached Autopsy, Tim went to step out of the lift, but Gibbs jerked his head at him. "Go on, go. I'm going to talk to Ducky."

Tim stood stiffly in the elevator as it ascended, walked silently to his desk, collected his things, and left without saying goodbye. A voice inside him was saying 'that's churlish, McGee, it's not like you', and repeating what Gibbs had just said; why _was_ he blaming Tony? What else could the SFA have done? Or said? The voice prodded a bit harder. 'You'd be in no state to _go _to New York but for him. You could be in hospital right now with them struggling to save your corneas.' He couldn't face that right now, and pushed the thought aside with an angry grunt, started his car and headed straight for the freeway without going home first.

Gibbs arrived back in the bullpen, to find Ziva at her desk writing her report. There was a hand-written memo from Tony on his desk saying that the forensics on the dead sailor were consistent with an accident, which he already knew from talking to Ducky, and that Abby had some satellite footage, of an SUV seen in the area. His report, laconic as usual, was also on the desk, he'd wasted no time, and Gibbs thought sadly that whatever talk he'd had with Ziva it must have been very brief. Of Tony there was no sign.

He opened his mouth to ask, but Ziva forestalled him. "Have you sent Tim home?"

"I've sent him to New York."

"Ah. He left without saying a word; and if that wasn't bad enough, a moment later Josh called. I believe Tony is in the secret corner talking to him." Gibbs nodded his thanks, and walked round the staircase. Tony was leaning back against the wall; one leg crossed over the other, his phone closed and held loosely. He looked casual and relaxed to anyone passing, but not to someone who knew him. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was rigid.

As Gibbs approached, he said softly, "I'm not slacking, Boss."

"Never thought you were, son."

That was enough to snap the green eyes open. Tony shoved himself off the wall. "I introduced them, did you know that? _I_ got them together. Thought I'd done something good for McGee. I was watching him last week… I _enjoyed_ watching how happy he was… then Josh calls… now this… Boss, I – "

The head-slap was a lot more gentle than the one McGee had received. More like an obligation than a reproach. DiNozzo straightened up. Gibbs nodded his approval. "What did Josh have to say?"

"Gillian's conscious, more like her old self, but cries a lot… keeps apologising. It seems there's been some positive development, but Josh didn't want to go into detail on the phone."

By now they were beside Gibbs' desk. "Gill's in Bethesda, right?"

"Yeah, Boss. Marine dependant. She's in good hands."

"You want to go?"

"Well, yeah – but you're already a man down. I mean – "

"Balboa's bored to tears, been on cold cases for a day and a half. He can take the next case. _You_ can take Ziva. To watch your back. I'll go and see Abby about that SUV. And ghost-write McGee's report." As Tony still hesitated, he said, "I'll _call_ you if I need you, OK?"

Ziva was already on her feet, smiling. "Come, Tony… I have always wanted to be your bodyguard." Tony actually smiled. Their unique but effective way of taking care of him warmed his battered heart.

"Watch your backs."

"You watch yours." Tony grinned his thanks at Gibbs and followed Ziva out of the bull pen.

It was only after they'd gone that Gibbs wondered if he should have asked for Tony's version of events first. He came to the conclusion that since the news from Bethesda seemed to be good, a happier, more reassured Tony was a bigger priority. He went for coffee.

* * *

Packer sat in his SUV, down the road from the vehicle entrance to the Navy Yard, eating a burger and dropping bits in the car's rapidly degenerating interior. He didn't even glance at the squalor that a few days in his custody had caused. This was as close as he could get, there were no good vantage points from which to watch without being obvious, and the Navy was careful about such things, so he had to keep looking along the road to see if the soft topped Mustang appeared. Pavel hadn't been pleased that he'd missed earlier, so his intention was to follow and try again. A small saloon left the gate, one of those little British jobs that he could never remember the name of; there was something about it that rang a bell, but he couldn't think what before it disappeared.

He took another bite of his burger, swore, and threw it on the floor. He went scrabbling through his 'starter pack', and found what he was looking for. The string of profanities that left his lips made a hopeful seagull that had perched nearby, its eyes on the burger, squawk in disgust as it rose into the air. There it was; BMC Mini Cooper, that was what the woman on McGee's team drove; that was her leaving, and she hadn't been alone in the car. It could have been DiNozzo…

He havered in furious indecision. He wanted to kill the fed, possibly more than he wanted to complete the job and get the rest of the money he'd been promised. But he was working for some very scary people… he didn't fancy the rest of his life in hiding, and he wasn't getting the results they wanted. He decided to take a closer approach, and to head for New York. As he pulled away from the kerb, he decided he couldn't do a journey of that length on an empty stomach, and started grubbing around on the floor for the half- eaten burger.

**AN: Bleargh. When my son was at Uny, he treated his car like that. The back window developed a rattle, so he jammed a cheese sandwich in to stop it. It was still there, mummified, six months later. Will, this chapter is respectfully dedicated to you, in gratitude for eventually growing out of being a No.1 slob.**

**Hopefully a bit more action next chapter; review? Please?**


	7. Chapter 7

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 7

Not two hours into his journey, Tim was forced to stop for a while. He spotted a sign directing to a picnic area off the freeway, and followed it down to a peaceful spot beside a lake. His eyes were smarting painfully, his guts churning, he couldn't remember ever being so miserable in his life. He tried, for the tenth time, to call Mari on her cell, which he was informed was switched off, then on her house phone, which went to the answering service, as usual. On impulse, he hit the speed dial for Tony, although he didn't know what he'd say, but the cell was switched off.

He was worried sick, and no matter which way he turned his thoughts, no matter what scenarios his mind played out, he could come up with no explanation for what had happened other than what Tony had said. Mari had kept something from him. To that he added that Mari didn't want to see him again. He felt utterly alone, and had a desperate desire to turn and flee back to the safety of his team; his friends. He remembered how he'd left without a word, and thought that not only Tony but Ziva now too would be mad at him, and guilt washed over him. He'd never thought of himself as the sort who'd do that, and reflected that love had made a mess of him, when he'd thought it was so good.

He'd apologise when he got back, never mind the Boss's rule; but as he used some more of Ducky's soothing drops, and closed his eyes to rest them for a while, he knew that wild horses wouldn't make him turn back. He wished the team were with him, but he'd go it alone, now or anytime, for Marianne.

If Terry Packer, driving fast with his cell clamped to one ear, had bothered to look down the bank from the freeway towards the scenic lake as he went by, he might have noticed the dark coloured Porsche parked there; but what Pavel Efimkin was saying to him was alarming him too much to leave room for any other thought. He gunned the engine and sped on.

* * *

"He does not say much, your Mr. Dietrich," Zinaida said thoughtfully. "He listens, and much goes on behind his eyes… are you sure he is with us on this?"

Jonathan stroked her shoulder. "Of course, _milaya moya_… are you worried that he wishes to stage a rival coup?"

"If he did, I would trust him more than that weasel Woodward, I simply want to know."

"Warren's part in all this is the same as it always was – he confirms if the science is right. He has no organisation of his own with which to rival us; he simply enjoys his pay checks. Don't worry, _lyubimaya_…"

Akhmatova shrugged. "Then we must trust Woodward…"

"Soon I'll ring him again, and increase the pressure a little. I'm not sure I'm happy with his choice of instrument this time… I know Pavel is not…"

She raised herself on one elbow, startled and delighted. "You talk to his second in command without his knowledge!"

"Of course, darling."

She kissed him. "You are very clever, my Englishman. It is a shame I must return to Berlin." She made to slide from the bed, but he pulled her back.

"There's plenty of time for that…" He reached for his cell from the nightstand. "Would you like to listen to me frightening Woodward? It'll be a turn-on…"

* * *

Mari Weiss sat in front of the fake log fire in her pal Dora's tiny medical school apartment. She'd phoned in sick when she'd returned to her own place and found a new set of photos. There was one of herself outside Tim's home, and another of her driving away from it. She could see the tracks of her own tears. This morning she hadn't left home, but Smarty had brought up an envelope he'd found on her car; there was a thoroughly alarming shot inside: Tim on his knees, his face screwed up in pain, and DiNozzo, worried and angry, holding his wrists hard. Were they fighting? Had something hurt Tim? She couldn't make out, but they were being watched, just as she'd been warned. The pain in her heart from not being able to talk to him was so bad she pressed both fists against her chest and whimpered.

She'd stopped having her cell phone switched on; she knew that her work colleagues would soon become alarmed, but she didn't know what to do. She never went near her car again, but threw some things into a case, phoned a taxi and got it to drop her at a secluded spot on campus. A few minutes later, reasonably sure she'd not been seen, she let herself into Dora's place, slammed the door and leaned against it, sobbing.

Now, sitting hunched and desperate over a plate of cereal that tasted like cardboard, she switched her cell on; fourteen missed messages. Most were from Tim, but she didn't dare look to see, even less the ones that _weren't_ from him. Her life had collapsed round her ears; the man she loved must hate her; and one thing was certain, she'd never be able to see him again. She put the bowl down, wrapped her arms round her knees and wept for utter misery.

* * *

Josh was waiting for Tony outside his mother's room. Ziva had smiled, and gone to sit further up the corridor, covering the entrance to the unit.

"How is she?"

"She's off all medication, including the stuff she was on before all this happened," Josh explained.

"I didn't know she was on any," Tony said. "Not that I would know, I suppose. Anti-depressants?"

"No," Josh said. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Apparently, she'd been having weepy spells for no reason, and she didn't want us to know; our GP suggested HRT."

"Oh…" Tony said, thinking he was beginning to understand.

"Yeah," Josh said, "Oh's about it. They tell me it's not always easy to get the dose right at first, and they reckon that with the PTSD on top of that, it just all hit Mom at once. They're letting everything get out of her system, and seeing how she goes; she's a lot better already, although she still goes off into tears sometimes. She says she feels guilty. We just keep reassuring her."

"Can I see her? I mean, will she see me?"

"She wants to, Tony."

Gill was sitting in the comfortable chair by her bed. Claire had brought her favourite dressing gown from home, and had helped her mom to fix her hair. She was no longer ghostly pale, and certainly looked better. When she saw Tony there were no half measures. She leapt from her chair; the next thing Tony knew her arms were around his neck.

"Tony, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" The big man stilled the torrent of apologies with a finger on her lips. He sat her down on her bed and sat beside her, patting her hands as they made their peace, until he was certain she knew they were good again, and Josh felt it was ok to come back in.

"We're fine," Tony told him with a grin, and turned back to Gill. "We just want you well again, Gill. And happy. In your own time. And if you're weepy sometimes, so what. Don't think your kids don't want to know."

"Or your friends," Nadia said as she came in with Anni, and Claire, who'd skipped afternoon school.

"Or your other friends," Ziva said from the doorway.

Tony thought of _his_ other friend, out there on a limb, locked in his own misery, and decided to stop thinking in cliches and do something. He didn't blame Gill in the slightest, and he was relieved beyond telling that the reason for the horrible events of the past few days had been found so quickly. He was just as glad that the remedy seemed likely to be simple, but the thing he really wasn't happy about was how it had distracted him from giving more time to Tim.

He was well aware that McGee had told him to stay out of it; he was just as aware that he wasn't going to. He didn't stand by when his people were in trouble, even if his people didn't _like_ it. Not when he'd walked round the thing, surveyed it from every angle, prodded it and poked at it, squashed down his egotistical conviction that he was right, and still come to the conclusion that he _was_. That attitude could get him a punch on the nose from time to time, but if he could do something, he would. He and Ziva said their goodbyes, with Tony keeping a special hug for his pal Nadia, and they set off back to the Navy Yard.

* * *

After an hour or so looking at case files with so little concentration that nothing leapt off the page, Gibbs had stared at the notepad on his desk for twenty minutes, not seeing it. He'd sent Tony off with a bodyguard, because he was the one who'd been shot at. Should he have let Tim go alone? Tony had said they all had to watch each other – was he right? Tim was going to see his girlfriend – to try to win her back, as far as he was concerned. But, well, Gibbs and coincidence; in spite of what Tim had said, he still felt the tug of a link. There wasn't a scrap of evidence; just his gut, a prowling bulldog with a glue-gun between its teeth. He got up and went down to see Abby, stopping at the machine for a Caf-pow, as usual.

He was astonished to see that every available screen in her lab was running footage from surveillance cameras.

"Gibbs! I knew you'd be down here soon!"

He handed over the drink, and asked, "What's going on here, Abs?"

"He didn't tell you? Tony just called. He's worried about Tim. Now, I like Marianne, but I like Tim a whole lot more, so when Tony asked me to run anything I could think of that might have something about her, I started with cameras round Cornell, and cameras near Tim's apartment, I'm checking her cards to find out where she bought gas, and I'll see if there's any footage from there as well, and maybe foodstores cos if we're being watched then maybe she is as well, and why didn't you tell me you're being watched, and that TIM GOT HURT!"

Gibbs explained, adding that he hadn't heard Tony's angle on it yet, but Abby had just filled in another detail. What did DiNozzo think they might see? Mari up to no good – unlikely. Mari being watched, like they were? Made sense.

"So where's Tim now?"

"I sent him off to New York."

"_New York?_ Boss, I thought you'd sent him home!" Tony, striding in, was horrified.

"He thinks she's got someone else; thinks that's what you were telling him – I told him to go sort it."

"Shit… where'd he get that from? He didn't mention the secret work?"

"Secret work? No… way I understood it, she's not doing it any more. Gave it all up for McGee… that's one reason why I couldn't see her having someone else. He said she was having problems with someone at work, and that it had nothing to do with that pot-shot this morning."

"Did you believe that?"

"You know I never believe anything like that, but hell, I didn't have any evidence otherwise… He mentioned secret work to you?"

"No, Boss. I mentioned it to him. What if we've got another loony professor on our hands? Someone who doesn't believe she's given it up?"

"Or wants her information," Ziva put in.

"Tony!" Abby said sharply. "Look at this!"

They all crowded round one screen, which showed a parking lot at Cornell. "I found the number of Marianne's car… and I found her parking spot. _Who's that?_"

Tony stared at the figure who was placing a large envelope under the wiper of the sky blue Camry. "Bastard!" he hissed. "That's Packer!"

Nobody had to ask who Packer was.

"Boss… I got to go to New York. Right now. McGee's got a couple of hours start on me, and doesn't know who he's up against. I – "

As he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, Ziva shook her head, as she listened to hers. "It has gone to voicemail. McGee… please call one of us as soon as you get this message. It is urgent."

"Let's get gone then," Gibbs said sharply.

"Boss…" Tony's eyes were anxious and wary at the same time. Gibbs looked at him and waited. He knew his SFA well enough to know he wasn't going to like his next words. "Somebody needs to see these programs through… and I need to take Abby."

Gibbs instantly baulked at the idea, as his SFA had known he would. "You don't take Abs into danger, DiNozzo."

"Not even to save Tim?" Abby protested.

Ziva said, "Gibbs, you and I could give the programs some time, gather what information we can, alert NYPD before we follow, but Abby is the only one who can initiate new ones if needed."

"Which we won't know until we get there. I can do that from a laptop, and receive any data you send, and I'd rather be doing that live with Tony than down a phone line. And," she added with a flourish, "I want to be there for Tim. I'm going, Mister."

Gibbs heaved a sigh. It went against everything in his make-up, but his team were right. The bulldog dropped the glue gun, and glared at Tony.

"I know, Boss… anything happens to her, I'm dead. I get that." Gibbs just pointed at the door.

* * *

Terry Packer, Pavel's latest call stinging his ears, arrived in Manhattan in Rush Hour, and spent longer than he would have liked looking for somewhere to pull over. He had Mari Weiss's address, but wasn't sure just where the building was. His sat-nav didn't seem to work properly in the New York canyons; he swore about it being a cheap model, forgetting the abuse he'd been giving it the last few days. He knew that one of Efimkin's stooges had attached a tracker to something of Mari's that wasn't her car, which he'd been told hadn't moved since Sunday night.

He switched the receiver on, and a Praying Mantis sitting on the handlebars of the motorcycle in the next slot covered its face at the language. Packer neither knew nor cared that he was getting a bad reputation throughout the animal kingdom of the Eastern Seaboard. The tracker indicated that Weiss wasn't there…. It had taken him forty minutes to get into north Manhattan, it would take him as long again to get down to the southern tip, to where the tracker was indicating, in these conditions.

He remembered enough from the 'starter pack' to know that this was where the New York City campus of the university was; the medical facility where he knew Weiss worked, and wondered why the stupid woman kept an apartment at the north end of the island. He set off again with a snarl; his latest instructions from his impatient masters were to find her and let them know; he'd be given extra manpower in order to snatch her, given that persuasion hadn't worked. Since he'd been told not to hurt her, he'd have to work out his tensions some other way.

* * *

Tim arrived at Mari's apartment exhausted and low, only to be told by a concerned Smarty that she'd left her car - which was a blow to Tim since he knew it was equipped with a tracker - taken a few things and disappeared in a taxi. Smarty was worried. He told the agent about the envelope he'd found, and Tim dashed up to the flat to discover the photo that had frightened her so much. Wearily, he decided to go down to the Medical School and see if she was there.

It was a measure of the state he was in, he realised as he tried to fix it for Smarty to let him know if she returned, that he'd left his phone on transmit when he'd stopped to rest; and not only flattened the battery, but made himself unreachable. He couldn't believe he'd made such a rookie mistake, and it simply added to the weight on his shoulders as he headed down to Cornell. Smarty watched him go, shaking his head and wishing that someone would explain to him just what was going on.

Someone did; when DiNozzo and Abby arrived less than an hour later; having made up a great deal of time thanks to Tim's rest, and Tony abandoning all attempts to keep his driving legal. The SFA was preparing to fast talk his way into the apartment, when Smarty, taking both visitors in his stride, said, "DiNozzo. Oh, yeah, Tim's talked about you."

"So if I say he's in trouble, and so's Mari, you'll believe me?"

"He sure didn't look too good when he was here earlier." 

"Ah… no. Tell me more"

"Sure. And you tell me what the hell's going on."

By the time they reached Mari's front door, and Smarty let them in, everyone knew as much as each other. Abby began to set up her equipment, while Tony checked security with the admirable concierge. He looked at the photo that had disturbed first Mari then McGee; it didn't thrill him, either. Nothing else in the apartment gave any clue to Tim's whereabouts or what to do next; Tony called Gibbs, who was still almost an hour away with Ziva, and had only one thing of note to report. The tapes they had studied came up with one significant shot of Packer; the man he was meeting with was one Pavel Efimkin, no record, but right hand man of a businessman by the name of Christopher Woodward – a man flagged up by every agency in the country.

Abby set out to discover as much as she could about both men; once the search was running, she said, "Let's find out if Mari's got any tea. I'll make a hot drink."

"That's a great idea, Abs… something's got to give me an idea of what to do next. You know how you used to want to fit me up with a subcutaneous tracker? I wish you'd done it to McGee. Uh-oh…" Abby had brought three machines with her, and the one set to track Mari's credit card had come up with information. The card had just been used to purchase an airline ticket on line; a one way journey to Geneva, Switzerland, no specific flight as yet.

"Oh, boy," Tony said, things taking shape in his mind. "If she's running from the likes of Woodward, with Packer on her tail, I've got to find her. _You're_ going to stay here with Smarty, and I'm going to go to JFK." Abby nodded and said nothing.

Outside, hefting the key in his hand, Tim hesitated. Smarty hadn't been at his desk; one of his monitors showed him in the parking garage helping a resident with a flat tyre. Tim decided not to wait and check in with him, but go straight up to the flat again.

His heart leapt as he heard a low female voice inside the apartment, and then sank as a masculine voice answered. Tony had been right. He wondered whether to just walk away, but simply couldn't. What sort of lover wouldn't put up a fight? He put the key in the lock.

On the other side of the door, Abby said, "I guess I'll switch the kettle off, then," and went into the kitchen. The front door opened, and Tony said, "McGee!" with relief in his voice that would have been unmistakable to anyone thinking straight. Which poor, exhausted Tim wasn't.

So _this_ was why DiNozzo was so keen to come between him and Mari… he couldn't believe… he yelled "You – ", leapt across the room and put the senior agent on the floor with a hefty punch to the corner of his jaw.

Even before Abby came out of the kitchen, he realised how crazy his thinking was, and his arms fell to his sides as if someone had cut his strings. He couldn't think straight; his mouth worked but no sound came out. Abby shoved him away from Tony hard with both hands to his chest, and he stumbled back onto the sofa.

"I…I'm sorry… I thought… I…"

Tony picked himself up, and stood over him; he couldn't bring himself to look up.

"Tim… Tim…_McGee!_" He dragged his gaze up as the older man put his hands on his shoulders and shook him slightly. "McGee… there's _work_ to do. But while you're in this frame of mind, there's no way I can take you into the field with me. I'd get you killed. Stay here. Calm down, protect Abby. I'm going to the airport – _don't_ come after me alone. Wait for Gibbs and Ziva. Abby'll fill you in."

"I'm sorry…"

"Yeah…I know…. " He dropped to Tim's eye-level. "You need to have your head on straight before Gibbs gets here if you don't want him to know –"

"You're not going to tell him?"

DiNozzo rolled his eyes. "No…but if you don't get your game head back on I won't have to. Abby, sort him? Quick?"

She nodded, wide eyed, and he was gone.

**AN: Tim a bit out of character? I think he's in love for the first time in his life, and hasn't a clue how to handle it when things go pear-shaped. You can always tell me…**


	8. Chapter 8

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 8

Tony rubbed his jaw as he drove. As a native New Yorker he knew short cuts to John F. Kennedy that only the cabbies knew, and never told their customers, and he threaded his way through the city. Who'd have known the Probie had a punch like that?

He'd told Abby as they drove up from DC, the thoughts he'd been having earlier on about not leaving a problem alone even when he'd been told to. She'd said this was a good thing, but it was likely to get him punched one day. He said yes, he'd thought that too, and hey – it had happened.

He sighed. He felt for Tim, which was the real reason he'd fixed it for Abby to be the one who came with him; he'd imagined how the younger agent was feeling, and knew she was the one who could set him straight. Even if he'd had the time himself, he didn't think McGee's current mindset would make him exactly receptive to SFA advice… Trouble was, it presented him with yet another problem; and not the most urgent one of having no back-up. Tim, for all his lion's heart and good intentions, wasn't handling all this as an _agent_ should, and if he wasn't to send the career he'd worked so hard for straight down the Swannee, he had to start thinking about that. Josh had been right. He'd known it at the time; just wasn't expecting to have the proof of it so soon.

_And it's going to be down to you, DiNozzo – never had a successful relationship in your life – know all about it – not – to teach him how to do his job well and still have a happy marriage. Without letting Gibbs know there's a problem in the first place. Yeah, good luck with that. Well, who else? Gibbs? Three times divorced and functional mute? __**Ziva? **__Help, Abs? Oh, and first, DiNozzo, you've got to save the girl for him to marry her._

He called Gibbs. "Boss? Before you ask, Abby's safe. She's at Mari's apartment, with McGee. And Bill Smart, the concierge. Former cop, remember? I'm on my way to JFK, no back-up. Need you to join me there, ASAP. Mari bought a ticket, half an hour ago, for Geneva – unspecified flight, so I'm going to have to stake out the place until she arrives." He explained about Efimkin, and who he worked for, and thought Abby would have more on Woodward by now. "You can always check with her, Boss, but when everyone from Scotland Yard to Interpol's interested…"

Gibbs pulled a grimace that Tony could hear down the phone. "And in the mean time you're staking out a whole airport, with no back-up. Any idea if the bad guys know?"

Tony's voice was light as he delivered the bad news. "Sure, if they've got the sort of technology we have – which is likely."

"How many bad guys?"

"Now how would I know that, Boss?"

"Um. Try not to get yourself killed before we get there." He disconnected.

* * *

Tim was trying not to look as if he were rubbing his knuckles; Abby would only say he deserved the smart. "He said I wasn't in a fit state to go out in the field," he said dazedly. "Did you hear what he said? He said he'd get me killed. Not _me _get _him_ killed… I hit him, Abbs. I _hit_ Tony."

Abby said calmly, "Yes, I think he noticed."

"_Abby…"_

She put a cup of tea into his hand, and sat down beside him, and her attitude changed in a fairly Abby way, as if someone had flipped a switch. "You, mister," she said fiercely, "need to shut up and listen." Tim shut up and listened.

"Which would have been easiest… for me to stay in my lab and work from there, and Tony have some back up, or me to bring my stuff up here? Yep, rhetorical, doesn't need an answer. I'm here because Tony needed me to be here for you; I think maybe Gibbs did too, or he wouldn't have agreed to it – Gibbs always seems to know what the rest of us are thinking."

She had no idea that her next words were mirroring Tony's thoughts so accurately. "You have to start thinking like Special Agent McGee," she said sternly. "You still have a lovely streak of innocence, Tim, and you mustn't ever lose it… but you're an agent, and anything that goes wrong in life, you've got to handle it like an agent. Even, and especially Mari. If you'd been with us when we went on investigating, and don't look so shocked, Tim, of course I helped; if you'd _told Gibbs about Tony's secret work suspicions,_ instead of ignoring them,we'd have found out about Packer and Woodward a lot faster. Gibbs wouldn't have sent you off up here by yourself for a start."

"Packer? The Packer who nearly killed Tony?"

"Him." Abby put maximum venom into the word, and told Tim the rest of the story. She put everything they knew about Christopher Woodward on the screen, and a cold hand clawed at Tim's heart.

Like an agent… he sat up straight. "So this bastard's after Mari, and he's using Packer, and Tony's gone up against him alone. Abby, I have to go. And you have to trust that I'm OK to do it. How far away is Gibbs?"

"I'd say 45 minutes, but it's Gibbs. But –"

Tim's cell buzzed, and he snatched it up eagerly. He didn't recognise the caller ID.

"Is that Special Agent McGee?"

"Speaking."

"Agent McGee, it's essential that I speak to you at once. About Mari Weiss."

Tim stared at the phone. "Who are you?"

"My name is Warren Dietrich. I have information that you need, and it's urgent."

"Where are you?"

"Outside Dr. Weiss's front door; your concierge is holding a gun on me."

Tim drew his gun and motioned Abby to go in the bedroom. He looked through Marianne's spyhole, and Smarty was standing there with a grin on his face. Tim knew that if there was a problem, there was no way the ex-cop would smile about it. The man beside him was tense, but calm. Tim opened the door, motioned them both inside and closed it quickly. He motioned the stranger to sit down on the sofa, and didn't put his gun away. _Like an agent…_ Smarty holstered his, but went to stand by the front door. The newcomer smiled approvingly.

"Agent McGee, if I move my jacket to show you my badge, will you refrain from shooting me?"

"Go ahead." Tim didn't move. The stranger, a dark haired man in his early forties, unclipped a badge from an inside pocket, and passed it over. "CIA," Tim said expressionlessly. "What do Langley want with Mari Weiss?"

"I'm not an field agent," the stranger said. "As I told you, my name is Warren Dietrich, PhD, blah blah blah, and I'm a theoretical physicist. I'm based at your old place, MIT, but to maintain my cover I currently work at Cornell. I was recruited by the CIA some three years ago because my field of work, which broadly speaking is weapons of the future, was likely to bring me to the notice of a businessman named Christopher Woodward."

"We know about him," McGee said, deciding quickly that Dietrich spoke the truth. Abby came out of the bedroom and without saying a word, turned up the information they had on Woodward on a screen. She turned it towards Dietrich.

"So you know who he is… his very successful industrial espionage and theft of other people's ideas made him very rich, and he then decided that international espionage would make him richer. His actions these days amount to treason, and we're out to bring him down, and everyone he associates with. He's a threat to national security, and world security – he will sell anything to the highest bidder, and scientists who won't willingly work for him are at risk. Including your Dr. Weiss. And I know that she's _your_ Dr. Weiss, by the way." He handed Abby a card.

"This is a radio frequency."

"A tracker. In the collar of Dr. Weiss's coat. Can you find it?" Abby just snorted.

Tim said with barely concealed impatience, "What do you want from me?"

"It would be nice not to have my cover blown, I've risen to a very high position in the company. But first and foremost, did you know that Woodward has been trying to recruit Mari Weiss?"

Tim shook his head slowly, remembering Tony's words.

"She's not having any of it, no matter how they threaten her," Dietrich continued. "An attempt was made on the life of a colleague of yours this morning; she was told that you would be next – or her parents. She's making a run for it –"

"That much I know – I was about to disobey orders and go to the airport when you appeared."

"Then let's go."

"Smarty, look after Abby?"

"Sure, Tim."

"Tim, should you –"

He looked her straight in the eyes. "'Like an agent,' Abs. Tell Gibbs everything. You're safe here cuz they won't go where Mari isn't." He kissed her cheek. "Thanks." He and Dietrich left.

"My primary job is to recognise who's a possible victim," Dietrich said as they raced down to Tim's car, "and as soon as I realised what they intended I came to you. My people will help, but things have moved fast and we have no-one in place. One of Woodward's associates has to leave for Berlin tonight, and wants to see some sort of result before she goes. When she decided it was no longer safe to stay here, Dr. Weiss hid out in a building on the Lower Manhattan campus – its security meant that the man Woodward has set on her –"

"Packer – we know him too –"

"Yes… it was he who attempted to shoot Special Agent DiNozzo - at any rate, he couldn't get into the building to take her, as instructed. They realise she won't agree to work for them, so the alternative is to snatch her and force her to tell them what she knows. Yes, I know, she's been there before, but these people are worse. Which was why I had to act, even at the risk of blowing my cover. Packer reported that Dr. Weiss left in a taxi, and if your Miss Sciuto tells us she's gone to the airport so much the better. As long as she has that tracker we can trace her, and in any case Woodward has a storage facility at JFK, they'll probably take her there." 

"If they manage to get her," Tim said. His heart was beating fast, but his mind was ice cold. Like an agent…He'd decided to trust this man, so he added, "Special Agent DiNozzo has a head start on us, and if you know so much about us, you'll assume, rightly, that the rest of my team are also on their way. Do you know how many men Woodward has?"

"His teams usually have five. But I had to leave to find you before I could find out what his plans are." He paused. "There's something else I should mention. Like I said, I'm not a field agent. I don't carry a gun. So I'm not a lot of good to you in that respect. Also, if I get the call that they've taken her to Woodward's freight store, they'll expect me to go there."

"Why's that?"

"My job in the organisation is to verify that the science is accurate." He swallowed. "It's always come to me second hand before… or well bought and paid for scientists have told me willingly. Dr. Weiss is unlikely to impart it willingly, so I'll have to find a way to delay them from harming her until you get there. When I go, you'd better be somewhere right on my tail. I'd just as soon _I_ didn't end up dead, let alone Dr. Weiss."

Tim nodded silently, and gunned the Porsche.

* * *

"I _told_ DiNozzo not to leave you unprotected!" Gibbs was furious.

"Gibbs! This is Manhattan. Mari's apartment building is like a fortress, and her security is brilliant. _And _I've got my own personal bodyguard. _You _need to be at the airport to help Tony and Tim. Did your CIA friend find out about Dietrich?"

Abby had told Gibbs everything, just a Tim had asked her to; everything except the meltdown, and the punch.

"He's who he says he is, Abs… but he's a civilian scientist – another one who'll need to be protected. Has Mari's tracker moved?"

"I've got Tony on foot somewhere near the drop-off point, and as far as I can tell, Mari's in a taxi that appears to have spent the last half hour going through some strange evasive manoeuvres. Mari's probably trying to see if she's being followed; I guess a cabbie will do anything you ask as long as the meter's running - but she's heading in the general direction of JFK."

Abby hunched over the screen that was tracking Mari's coat, Tim's car and Tony's cell. "Oh, Gibbs, you've just come up as well! You're only about half a mile behind Tim… he stopped for a moment…"

"Probably to drop Dietrich off… Ziva'll let Tim know we're close by. Keep me posted." He disconnected in his usual way.

Abby watched two of the dots beginning to converge on the airport fringes, and called Tony. "Gibbs and Ziva have just caught up with Tim! So he didn't disobey you after all!"

Tony sounded tense and a bit tired. "I didn't make it an order, Abby. I figured you'd send him on his way once you'd sorted him out. Good job, by the way. Where's Mari?"

"Almost on top of you, Tony. Can you see a taxi?"

His low chuckle was a bit on the grim side. "'Bout fifteen of them, Abs. Two pulling up… no, and no. Elderly gentleman and young lady in one – I want to be a sugar daddy when I grow up… family in the other… here comes another one..."

Abby heard him call "Mari!" urgently. A moment later, she heard him cry out in pain; the screech of brakes as a vehicle came to a violent halt, and a hiss as the signal was lost. It disappeared from the screen at the same moment.

"Tony? _Tony!!!_"

**AN: Sorry for the long-winded Dietrich – so much to tell, so little time…**


	9. Chapter 9

Brothers Up in Arms

Chapter 9

Dietrich's phone rang. "Yes…Pavel? I see… well, I _was_ enjoying myself with a lady… no, we're in her car…" Tim's eyebrows shot up. "Atlantic Avenue, why?" Dietrich inflected slight impatience into his voice. "All _right_. Pick me up at the south entrance to Prospect Park… Huh - I'll be there before you." He was careful not to disconnect before he'd let out an irritated expletive as he moved the cell away from his mouth.

"It's happening, then?" Tim asked in a tight voice, already turning to head for the park.

"I need to be there," Dietrich said, equally tightly. He put a card on top of the dash. "If you ring me, speak very quietly, and expect to be called Genevieve."

Tim's laugh was a short, unamused bark. "I'll get a real girl to call you."

"Ah. Miss David or Miss Sciuto. That makes sense." A short time later, they arrived at Prospect Park.

"Thank you, Dr. Dietrich," Tim said quietly, and shook his hand. This man had a different sort of courage from that needed by an agent… sharp wits to maintain a front day after day, and never panic; he thought of Tony, the chameleon, and his stomach lurched. He pushed it aside. "Good luck."

"You too. Get out of here."

He watched as the Porsche headed off in a southerly direction, and waited.

Tim drove carefully, and was close to the airport when he couldn't believe his luck. He'd taken the route that he thought Gibbs was most likely to use, but still didn't expect to find him without Abby's help; so he was surprised but very relieved to see a bright yellow car behind him that was easily recognisable even in the gathering dusk. Abby… wise girl… had probably thought he was best left to talk to Dietrich, and told Gibbs how to find _him._ He took the first exit he found from the Shore Parkway and found a quiet side road to stop in. Gibbs and Ziva pulled up behind him a moment later.

Warren Dietrich was a smart man; what was more, he had a flair for macchiavellian plotting that he'd only discovered since being recruited by the CIA. He was deep in thought by the time Pavel arrived. He'd spent some time speaking to his handler at Langley, informing him of how things stood; and explaining the germ of an idea that had been growing since he'd sat by the fountain in the hotel courtyard. He'd been surprised to find that his controller was wary.

"Your safety comes first, believe it or not, Warren. Nobody's expendable on my watch."

"But if I could pull it off? Jack, think of what we could learn. What's the risk in trying?"

"Well… Woodward deciding you're a threat for a start…"

So, he hadn't exactly won permission to go ahead, but Jack hadn't said an outright no either… He got into the big people wagon, and faked an irritated huff.

"Sorry," Pavel said genuinely. "Didn't mean to spoil your romantic plans. Dr. A wants results, and Chris is nearly wetting his pants with panic. He's actually scared of those two."

"Mmm," Dietrich said thoughtfully. "I'm really not sure I'm happy with – no, forget I spoke."

"What?"

"Sitting here complaining about him to his right hand man? Not a good idea."

Efimkin shrugged. "Just add to what we've been saying – huh, Ben?"

"Hell, we all had plans for the night," the big henchman who'd moved into a central seat to allow Dietrich to sit up front, grumbled in agreement.

"So… he's afraid of those two? The sugar mumski and her English toyboy… odd pair, but effective… Now you mention it, I've seen signs. They rattled him a few times last time we had dinner together. OK, what I was going to say was, I'm not sure I'm happy working with him any more. I don't trust his judgement. That plain enough for you? I shouldn't be saying it. I could end up in a ditch somewhere."

"Wouldn't be my doing," Pavel said moodily. "Have you met the jerk he's got doing the job on Weiss? I advised against it; said he was too self-absorbed to be reliable. Chris said he was ideal; he had a grudge so he'd be up for it. Well, he's been concentrating on the grudge. I was told to use the idea of getting back at the people who cost him his job, when I recruited him; I sowed the seed, wish I hadn't, I'd have got him anyway."

"You think what we're doing right now's dangerous?"

"Oh, yeah. No-one Woodward's bullied into co-operation before –"

"Or killed?" Dietrich injected a tentative anxiety into his voice. They had pulled up close to the airport drop-off point.

"I hear so. Not by me… and Ben works for me –" the big man growled agreement, and Efimkin chuckled. – "Oh, Chris pays his _wages,_ but he works for _me, _so not him either, but that worries me too. We're business people. Me personally – I can break a few fingers… but killing? Bad. Counter productive. He has these teams that work for him… nasty…"

"I agree… what were you saying about no-one before?"

"Weiss is the first to have an organisation behind her that fights back. Chris knows it, but he's not doing things any different. He _should _fear NCIS. If he really wanted Weiss he should have changed his tactics."

"How?"

"I dunno… that's _his_ job."

"That he's not doing."

"Yeah. I guess I'd never have gone for Weiss simply because she's not doing the work any more. If you want to be in on that field you need to do business with the people who _are_."

"You're a smart man, Mr. Efimkin…"

The driver's head jerked round as he heard what his passenger _didn't _say aloud.

"I was going to say…" he said thoughtfully, "that I thought _you_ were going to turn _me _over to Woodward… but you're not. You reckon you could do a better job."

"I'm a scientist, not a businessman…" Dietrich tried to sound as if he were mulling over this new idea. "But hell, yeah, I'm damn sure I could."

"And you want me on board."

"Seems like a good idea," Dietrich said thoughtfully.

Efimkin snorted an unamused laugh. "Let's get through tonight intact first, and then think about it some more. _Shit!_"

Dietrich looked where his companion was looking, and froze. Mari Weiss had stepped out of a taxi, looking petrified. A tall man Pavel had never met, but recognised from the intel he'd studied was speaking on his cell phone as he approached her quickly – and from the shadowy area outside the bright lights, Packer had stepped, aiming his gun at the NCIS agent's back. The few other people around didn't seem to have noticed a thing.

Efimkin was glad he'd left the engine running – he opened his door and accelerated forward hard. The door smashed into the tall agent, sending him flying. His body made an arc through the air; his phone made another, and smashed on the concrete. Pavel stood on the brakes, and leaped out, flipping up the hood of his fleece as he did so. He and Ben dragged a frozen Marianne and a semi-conscious DiNozzo, who'd landed crumpled up about fifteen feet away, and who groaned as he was manhandled, into the car. "You damn fool," he hissed at Packer. "You were told to get the girl, not kill somebody."

"He was going to help her! I had to get rid of him!" Packer protested.

"In the middle of an airport. Now we're on camera. Nice work."

"What about the rest of my money?"

Efimkin looked at him coldly. "How d'you rate your performance tonight? Get the hell out of here."

Dietrich had slid across to the driver's seat and was gunning the engine. As the other two jumped back in, he put his foot down, and they raced away.

Efimkin looked at Mari dispassionately. "I said we don't kill, . But if you give me any trouble, you won't like the consequences. Open his jacket. Slowly." Mari gave him a hard glare and did so. He reached over and removed Tony's gun.

"You don't kill?" Mari spat. "Look at the state of him!" Tony's head moved feebly, his face was drawn with pain, and he seemed pretty well out of it.

"Doctor," Dietrich said over his shoulder. "My colleague there saved your friend's life. I'm sure he'd agree that a few bruises are preferable to a bullet in the back. Pa – Mr. E… have you checked for a back-up gun?" He was pretty certain that Pavel would have done, so looking competent would do no harm, and Efimkin grunted an affirmative. The Russian knew Woodward would never have thought quickly enough to take over the driving, or suggest a back-up, and the idea planted earlier began to take root.

The NCIS agent cried out softly in pain, as the car hit a kerb as it cornered fast, and Mari Weiss took her coat off and put it over him. She was crying softly, but as Efimkin studied her, he could see tears of anger as much as fear. Under the cover of the coat, Tony's finger gently rubbed the back of her hand.

* * *

"Gibbs… they're still somewhere at the airport… I know they met because I heard Tony say her name… but then I heard him scream, Gibbs! Somebody hurt him! Then I heard a car and now his signal's gone. I've only got Mari's. You – "

"Abs! Are we still driving towards the signal?"

"Yes… I'm superimposing it on a map of the airport… I've got your signal… you're about a mile from them, but you'll have to go round, cuz to go direct you'd have to go through Terminal one and across the runway… keep on that road… wait and I'll tell you when to make a left turn…" Smarty put a mug of coffee in her hand; it was the nearest he had to Caf-pow. "They've stopped at a building on the south side… I've only got a ground plan but it's a big building divided into small units I think –_go left, go left!_ Sorry, Bossman, I almost forgot to tell you –" 

"Yeah, Abs, we noticed…" Ziva picked herself up out of the back seat, having pushed Tim into the front when they'd left his Porsche in the quiet side street. He couldn't help praying it would still be there when he returned; Ziva had seen his sad look back, and phoned the local police to keep an eye on it.

"You feel guilty at thinking about it at such a time," she had told him softly, as he tried to cover his feelings. "Do not. It would be a pity if while we were dealing with one crime, we allowed someone else to commit another." There was a sideways Ziva logic to that, and he had smiled gratefully.

"You're getting nearer, Gibbs… the building is where Woodward has his freight holding unit…

"That's where Dietrich told us they'd go, Boss. That's where they've taken them!"

* * *

Packer had sideswiped a pillar and another vehicle as he tore away from the drop-off zone. He was boiling with anger and humiliation. They'd stopped him from getting his payback, and now they were trying to cheat him out of the money they owed him. He still had the tracker they'd given him, although like everything else in the SUV it was getting past its best.

The signal seemed to be heading for the unit he'd been told to take the woman to anyway, so he stopped trying to look at the tracker and drive at the same time, and headed in that direction. He still had the assault rifle, although he was low on ammunition, and he still had a full clip in the Beretta in his belt. Nobody was going to cheat him.

* * *

"Well, Chris, was that your Mr. Efimkin?" Zinaida asked, as Woodward disconnected a call. "And does he have Dr. Weiss?"

"Yes, and yes," Woodward told her. "Dr. Akhmatova," he had long since lost the nerve to call her by her first name – "You do realise, that although Dr. Dietrich is with Pavel, there is no chance of getting all the information you need in one attempt tonight?"

"I am well aware of that, Chris," she reproved him. "I simply want to see for myself that you actually _have_ who you say you have, before I catch my flight."

He had no answer to that, and left the room as they heard a vehicle coming to a halt outside. Akhmatova and Grenville moved to look at a monitor; the camera was covering the area outside the front entrance. They saw Dietrich emerge from the driver's seat of the eight seater outside; Pavel Efimkin holding the arm of an angry and mutinous looking Marianne Weiss, and a big man half carrying and half dragging another tall man, who didn't seem to be able to stay on his feet.

"Who the devil is that?" Jonathan Grenville asked furiously.

"That, my dear," Akhmatova said in silky soft fury, "is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS. He seems a little the worse for wear; but the point is, that if he is here, then his colleagues are not far away. Christopher has let us down yet again."

They moved over to a small observation window in a wall, in time to see the two captives being pushed into a room by two of Woodward's goons, and the door slammed behind them. Dr. Weiss homed in on the window at once, and glared; although she didn't meet either watcher's eyes, so they knew she was looking into a one way mirror.

Special Agent DiNozzo leaned against the wall, and slid slowly down it.

"It's time to leave, _milaya_," Grenville said quietly.

"It is indeed," his ladyfriend agreed.

Woodward came rushing back into the room and went straight over to the window. "There," he said. "I knew Pavel wouldn't let me down. Dr. Dietrich is ready to start questioning her, if she's unco-operative we can hurt her friend… or there's always sodium pentathol –" He looked round in astonishment. There was nobody in the room with him. On the monitor he saw Pavel's big wagon being driven away.

* * *

Mari was on her knees beside Tony, calling his name urgently. He kept his eyes shut, but whispered very softly, "Is there a mirror?"

"Oh, yes. I'm between you and it, with my back to it, so they cannot see what we say." 

"Smart girl."

"Do you suppose the room is bugged too?"

"Could be… just whisper…"

She touched his bruised jaw, thinking he'd got it when the car door struck him. He'd never tell her otherwise. "How badly are you hurt, Tony?"

He raised his head slowly, and opened his eyes, as he wrapped an arm round his ribs. "Well," he said wearily, "I _did_ think my ribs were healed after the last pasting they took…" he took her hand and squeezed it gently, as his head drooped again. "But I'm not so bad as I'm making out, darlin'… so don't you worry. All we gotta do is hold on until Tim gets here. He will. And he'll bring the cavalry. Just hold on."

She looked round for her coat to wrap round him. Damn. It was still in the car.

**AN: I got swiped by a car door once, in me youth… I had a dent in my hip for a year. Review, anyone?**


	10. Chapter 10

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 10

Dietrich and Efimkin had followed Woodward into the office area, having almost been run down by the two scientists departing in a hurry. Pavel had carefully noted where Woodward's two goons were; there was a third outside guarding the front entrance, he knew - since he was no longer sure if he was on the same side as them, he thought he might have to deal with them later. He wanted to keep his personal record of no killing in tact if he possibly could. He went over to look through the one-way mirror with the other two men.

The room was bare but for a gurney with a blanket, and a cabinet on the other side of the room. Dietrich grimaced inside himself; he had never used that room, or that cabinet, but he knew he was expected to now. As they watched, Mari fetched the blanket from the gurney, and wrapped it round Tony where he lay slumped against the wall. He opened his eyes and smiled at her, but his head soon drooped again. Woodward smiled. The Fed really didn't look good. No threat, and vulnerable. Pity it wasn't the one Weiss had taken up with, but he'd do.

The young woman looked at the gurney and shuddered; she could guess what it meant.

"Excellent," Woodward said. "She's afraid." There was a hint of excitement in his voice that sickened Pavel; as a former member of the Moscow police force, he'd seen a few things, and he'd broken a few heads in his time, as he hinted to Dietrich, but a person who was happy at the prospect of systematic torture was less than human, and not someone he wanted to work for any more. He'd come to the USA to make money, legal or not, but this… no. He silently made his decision.

"You're wanting to begin right away?" Dietrich said, feigning doubt and surprise.

"Of course. Why should we not?"

"No particular reason… just thought it'd be better to start fresh in the morning. There's also the small matter of my not being a medical doctor. You really should have one here, this isn't my field at all. Well, no matter… is the recording equipment ready?"

Woodward simply nodded to one of his men, who sat down at a desk along the same wall, and slid a panel out. He nodded back at his boss. Dietrich shrugged and left the office, went along the short corridor, easing his jacket open as he did so, and into the room. He immediately knelt by the semi-conscious agent. Mari glared at him and prepared to put up a fight.

Through an unseen speaker, Woodward said testily, "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"He could be faking," Dietrich said over his shoulder, moving between the injured man and the window. "I don't want to be jumped." He eased his jacket, so that Tony could see the badge he'd clipped temporarily to the outside of his inner pocket. He tapped the agent's cheek, none too kindly, and said "Hey!" sharply, and DiNozzo's head came up slowly. His eyes focussed immediately on the badge, widened momentarily, but went blank again at once. He made a thumbs up sign with his left hand, where it was wrapped around his ribs.

"Hey!" Dietrich said again. "Can you hear me?" Tony smiled very slightly, looked him in the eye and let his head fall forward again. "Aah – he's out cold," the CIA man said, thinking the agent might not be of much use but at least he'd be ready. Mari looked at him expressionlessly, wondering why he was lying. "You," Dietrich told her roughly, "Just sit there and don't give me any trouble. I can have two big guys in here in five seconds to kick his ribs in."

* * *

"Gibbs! The tracker's moving again. It's going away from the building. It was stopped for about three minutes but now it's on the move… they must be taking them somewhere else!" Abby's voice was frantic.

"Are they coming back towards us, Abs?" Gibbs maintained his calm.

"No! They seem to be heading for the international terminal… unless they're leaving the –"

"It's not them, Boss!" Tim said urgently.

"I thought you said the tracker was in Mari's coat."

"I did, Boss. But my guess is it got left in the car. Dietrich said Akhmatova wants to leave the country tonight… "

Ziva said, "So either she is going to her scheduled flight, or she is alarmed because they have taken Tony as well, and she is leaving in a hurry. Either way she is someone we should be arresting –"

"Ziva, we need to find our people first," Tim said, trying to sound reasonable and not worried sick. Like an agent... "Let Abby find the flight she's on and warn Interpol or something."

"Yes, but –"

"McGee – go. I'm right behind you. Ziva. Get Abby to tell them to hold the flight, when she's found it. Warn them to make the excuse plausible. Have her warn the Airport Police to back you up. Don't break my car." He disappeared after Tim.

* * *

Akhmatova looked round outside the car – no signs of pursuit; then inside out of curiosity. She saw the coat that was lying discarded on the central seat; and reached for it curiously.

"What do you have there?" Grenville asked her.

"I wonder if this was Weiss's… do I recall Woodward saying that there was a tracker in it…? _Sookin syn!_" She pressed the window switch, and as soon as there was enough opening she hurled the coat away from the car.

"You found it then, my darling…"

A few minutes later, Terry Packer found it too. He lit the evening air with profanities. There was an urban fox foraging nearby, but having lived around the airport all his life, he was too deaf to be offended by it. Packer was still swearing as he got back in the car; now he'd have to find the place himself.

* * *

Dietrich made a great deal of looking through the draws and trays of the cabinet. _'Come on, McGee… I thought_ _you said you'd be right behind me…I'm still not sure about Efimkin... but I know Woodward carries, and there are the other two…'_ He huffed worriedly. '_Well, Warren, now's the time to really earn your corn.'_

He spotted a vial and had an idea. Ativan – something he recognised. A sedative, pure and simple. He turned and glared at Marianne. "Get up on the gurney, Dr. Weiss."

"No!"

He looked down at DiNozzo. "I meant what I said. I'll hurt him to ensure your co-operation."

Mari climbed up on the gurney without another word. "I'm sorry," she said tearfully to the man on the floor. He waited until Dietrich was between him and the window to open his eyes and wink at her.

"This is merely Ativan, to relax you, Doctor. Don't fight, if you value Special Agent DiNozzo's life."

Mari watched the needle going into her arm, and didn't flinch. "Bastard," she said in schweizerdeutsch, smiled, and fell asleep.

"What are you doing?" Woodward yelled. "I thought you said relax her?"

Dietrich looked uncertain. "I should have realised… she's a lot smaller than my father… he used to have four milligrams… I didn't realise you should reduce the dose…" Woodward exploded with rage, and disappeared from the window. They could hear his fury coming down the corridor.

"You damn fool… you've knocked her out… how long will she sleep for? Give her something to counteract it…" He grabbed Marianne by the shoulders and began to shake her violently. The face of Woodward's recording goon appeared in the window, and disappeared just as quickly; Pavel Efimkin stood there gesturing with his gun, held butt first. Dietrich nodded; seemed the decision was made. Tony registered it too; Dr. CIA was going to have to explain some things. But not yet.

"Hey," Dietrich was protesting, "Don't do that… she'll wake up soon enough, there's no need to hurt her…" Woodward wasn't stupid; and Dietrich _acting_ stupid didn't sit right somehow. He dropped Marianne back on the gurney, drew his own gun and turned to face the scientist.

"You did it deliberately. What are you up to? What are you doing? Guys? Pavel? Where the hell are you?" There was no answer. (Declan was out cold across his recording equipment; Pavel was checking that Art was still guarding the front entrance.) "You freaking cheating bastard –"

Woodward's gun came up, and Dietrich was thinking that he was going to die, but maybe he'd at least saved the girl, when something small and silver flashed through the air. Woodward crashed back, the belt-buckle handle of a knife sticking from under his chin. DiNozzo leaned against the wall, white faced, on his knees. Warren Dietrich let his breath out in a long shudder. "That's nasty," he said. "And thanks."

"I was aiming for his heart…" Tony said shakily. He took a deep breath. "You're supposed to be one of the bad guys, right?"

Dietrich helped him to stand. "Save your energy, Agent DiNozzo. I had a long talk with your Agent McGee. He'll tell you all about it…"

"Is he OK?"

"Sure. Determined to save his girl. And you."

"Are my team coming?" He went to pick up the discarded gun, but couldn't actually bend… Dietrich retrieved it and handed it to him.

"Sure hope so." He checked Mari, and moved her to lie in a more comfortable position. "I told him I was on my own. Don't think I am now…"

Tony lifted the gun as the door opened; it was Pavel. He lowered the gun in his hand when he realised he was looking straight into DiNozzo's. "By the way," Dietrich said, "Pavel really was trying to save your life when he ran you down. Packer was behind you with a gun."

Tony just nodded, back to leaning on the wall; Pavel looked from one to the other, noting the ease between them. "Who _are _you?" he asked Dietrich.

"You made the right choice , Pavel. Y'see, _I'm _the guy who's going to run the organisation now; and you're going to be an _honest _crook. My right hand man. You could even come out of it smelling of roses when the whole nasty thing's been taken down."

"Guys… hate to spoil the love fest, but you need to get out of here. We'd have to arrest you if we found you here… blow your cover to hell…"

Dietrich gathered Mari up in his arms. "Can't leave her in here with _him_," he said.

"There's a break room next door," Pavel said. "We can put her there. But you should know; I couldn't find the guy who was guarding the front entrance. He's armed."

DiNozzo lurched after them to the break room; at the end of the corridor was a fire door to the outside world. Tony pointed. "If you can…" he said slowly, "guard her until my friends arrive, then sneak out that way. It'll be a shame that two of the bad guys got away before they got here, but you can't win 'em all. I'm gonna look for this other guy."

"You're in no fit state…" Dietrich said as he laid Mari carefully on a couch, and Pavel put the blanket over her.

"_You_ can't help. You need to stay alive for the job ahead of you. If you ever need any help from NCIS, you've got it. Good luck." He left as quickly as he was capable of, which wasn't saying much. He headed back into the office area, and looked round slowly. There were a couple of computer cubicles, not tall enough to hide a person standing, and he couldn't see the feet of anyone crouching, but he still eased past them and the unconscious recording man carefully, holding his gun in both hands.

There was a rear door to check out, but as he came to the last cubicle he actually smiled delightedly. His Sig, and his back-up Glock lay on the desk there, and finding them at that moment probably saved his life. As he hefted the familiar, beautifully balanced weapon, he heard a sound behind him, and whirled round. When you must, you can. The sound guy, pretty wide awake, was drawing a bead on him. Staggering, Tony still snapped off a shot born of second nature; the other man fired reflexively a moment later, and went down.

The big agent's knees slowly gave way on him; he found himself sitting on the floor in the cubicle, leaning against the desk. Blood welled from his left forearm; he reckoned he could feel the bullet against the bone. Yecch. He drew up one knee and leaned his injured arm on it, blood dripped onto the floor. His head sank on his chest. That was him finished for the day…

**AN: A bit shorter than usual; only a bit, honest. But that's what I get for filling an unexpected afternoon off with writing, instead of all the things I SHOULD have been doing. That's it now for torturing Tony…. One more chapter should do it.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Be warned, one F word. And is what Tim does a little out of character? I debated whether to put it in or not, then thought W.T.H…like you do….**

Brothers Up In Arms

Chapter 11

There was nobody in sight, although a Jaguar XF stood outside, and the front door to Woodward's unit stood wide open. Lights blazed from the interior as Packer brought his SUV roughly to a halt on the other side of the service road. He sat for a moment, debating between the assault rifle, which looked meaner, and the hand gun, which had more ammunition. The part of him that liked to frighten and hurt told him to take the rifle, and he badly wanted to frighten or hurt _somebody _tonight, so he stuck the Beretta down the back of his belt and hefted the big gun.

He covered the short distance to the fringe of the lighted area quickly, then ducked inside the building.

Inside, Pavel's cellphone vibrated against his hip. "Pav? I hid in the truck, like you said. That nice Russian lady nicked our car… and Packer's heading into the building with something that looks like a bloody Kalashnikov."

"Shit!" Pavel hissed. "One more damn thing to think about. Thanks for the heads-up, Ben… if you can do it without being seen, bring the truck round to the side door on the right, but _don't_ come in. We're well hidden. We'll come to you."

Dietrich looked sick. "DiNozzo's in no fit state to take on Packer with a Kalashnikov…"

Pavel shook his head. "Well, new boss… he told us to stay here and guard the lady… He wouldn't thank us for getting her killed."

"He just saved my life!"

"I know. Now we have to do as he asked. _You _said it… we've got to take down the Woodward organisation, which means staying alive. Let's just wait and see." Dietrich groaned. What had he - willingly, mind - let himself in for?

Packer entered the office area cautiously; but there was still no-one in sight… no-one alive, that was. A very dead man was slumped over a desk full of recording equipment. The desk was beside a window into another room; it was lit up, and Packer glanced in. He froze momentarily with a gasp, too stunned to resort to his usual oaths. That was Woodward on the floor with the knife in his throat…what the hell had happened here?

Outside, the door guard emerged from the shadows at the back of the building, zipping up his pants, a grin of relief on his face. If he'd heard the sounds of the two close together gunshots he might have been more wary, but the sound of jet engines constantly screaming overhead was enough to make hearing anything else difficult; even if he'd been the sort to take his job seriously. He was about to resume his position, when a click behind him wiped the smile from his face and made him freeze.

"That's sensible," a voice said quietly. He felt the muzzle of a gun against the back of his neck, and another figure emerged from the shadows to pat him down. A moment later he was shoved into the XF and cuffed to the steering wheel. "If you think sounding the horn is worth me coming back and shooting you, go ahead and do it," the mean looking guy with the bad haircut told him sweetly. "McGee, wait up!"

The younger agent, moving purposefully towards the door, didn't think you could sound the horn on an XF without the ignition on, and he thought maybe you needed a key card for that, but he wasn't sure, and anyway, tell the Boss? Perhaps not. Find Mari. And Tony.

Packer looked round in deepening unease; there was no-one here he could threaten into giving him money, but there _was_ clearly an efficient killer somewhere in the building. His eyes fell on a denim clad leg sticking out from a computer cubicle – _shit_ – another body…he approached with caution… and couldn't believe his eyes.

DiNozzo… losing blood by the bucket load – but still _alive._ His Sig lay on the ground, dropped from nerveless fingers. "Well ain't that too bad, Fed," Packer said with growing pleasure, and was even more gratified when the Italian raised his head and looked at him. The unafraid, unamused gaze grated on the ex-cop and took the smile off his face. "Don't know what you're glarin' at, Fed… I'm the one with the gun."

Tony never could resist. "Fucking lousy shot, though."

Packer's eyes widened. "I won't miss this time –" he began to raise the rifle.

"You won't _shoot_," a voice said, the hardest and flattest with authority that Tony had ever heard it. "Freeze."

Packer froze, and turned his head slowly. Oh yeah, the young one. The Romeo. He laughed. "_You_ freeze. Or I'll kill him."

"It doesn't work like that." Tony shivered. He remembered where he'd heard that voice say those words before. "Understand this – you're only alive as long as you don't pull that trigger. The moment you do, you die."

"You won't kill me where you're aiming at, sonny."

"Not right away," McGee said in that matter-of-fact, deadly voice. "Which d'you prefer – life, or revenge and your 'nads shot off?" Tony grinned broadly. "Drop your weapon," he heard McGee finish, and saw Packer begin to comply… but as he did so, he turned slightly sideways, as if to put the rifle on the nearest desk. As his back turned to Tony, the SFA saw his right hand, masked from Tim's view, reach round behind him for the Beretta.

When you must, you can. He had no chance of reaching, let alone using his blood-slippery gun. He sucked air in and yelled. "Back-up! Between his cheeks!" His damaged ribs clamped an iron band of pain round his torso, and his head fell forwards onto his knee again, so he didn't see the handgun swinging back towards him, and the roar of Tim's gun was just a noise in his darkening mind. McGee, looking beyond Packer at the slumped, defenceless man who was _still_ looking out for his friends, put a bullet exactly where he'd said he would. Well, he thought, that was for Mari too…Packer raised his head in horror, and Gibbs shot him between the eyes.

The two agents looked round, taking in the other body, and Gibbs glanced through the lighted window. "Woodward. DiNozzo's knife in his throat."

McGee was already kneeling beside Tony. The big Italian tried to give him his usual grin, but his facial muscles didn't seem to respond to instruction too well, as the world drifted in and out of reality. Tim looked back round the partition. "Mari, Boss?" he pleaded, as he clamped a hand round the SFA's arm. Gibbs nodded, and began a careful search. Tim got himself round behind Tony to support him, still holding his arm tightly, and trying not to kneel in the red puddle beside him. He marvelled to himself… seemed like he wasn't above shooting a man where it hurt, but he drew the line at paddling in his friend's blood.

Tony shifted in his arms and whispered something, but it was inaudible. He put his ear down by the injured man's mouth, and Tony tried again. "Mari's safe."

Tim would have allowed himself the time to be sick with relief, but for the SFA, rapidly approaching hypovolaemic shock, slumped against him. He squeezed his shoulder and said "Thanks, Tony," although he didn't know if his friend heard him, and reached for his cell phone. "Abby? We need the airport police, and medics. No, nobody's dead. Everyone's safe. Tony's hurt – but he'll be fine if you - Abby, _please_," he said desperately, "Please, just _do _it! I'll call you back as soon as they get here. I promise."

As soon as he disconnected, the phone buzzed again. "Abbs –"

"Hello… is that Genevieve?"

"Dietrich! Where are you?"

"Making our escape… I'd have stayed around, but we're bad guys, remember? Did DiNozzo tell you… Dr. Weiss has only been given Ativan, she'll wake up none the worse shortly… I gave it to her so she couldn't be questioned. He told us to stick around long enough to protect her until his friends arrived, so we did. When we saw your boss heading this way we left. Did DiNozzo tell you he saved my life? McGee?"

"No…" Tim said slowly, "He didn't say that…"

"Shit, McGee, he's not –"

"No, he's alive…" the tone of his voice didn't encourage the CIA man much.

"Was it Packer?"

"Yeah. He's dead."

"Ah. The ambulance has just screamed past us; it'll be with you soon. Keep me posted when you get the chance. You're good guys."

"You too."

As he disconnected a shadow fell across him, and he looked up. "Mari!" Gibbs had her arm over his shoulder, and his arm round her waist; she was unsteady on her feet but otherwise looked fine. "Mari…" Tim said again. He shook himself. Like an agent… "Liebchen, help me… please…"

Pulling her scarf purposefully from round her neck, she dropped to her knees beside him as if she'd never been away.

* * *

"You think of everything, _milaya,_" Jonathan Grenville said, smiling over his champagne glass. They sat in comfort in the first class cabin of a Lufthansa 747, waiting to take off for Berlin.

"I had thought of inviting you to Berlin for a while," Akhmatova said. "You know I cannot get enough of you, my Englishman. But as it turned out, booking the extra ticket was prudent; we have to see if any of this debacle can be traced back to us, before we know when it will be safe to return to this country. No matter…" she clinked glasses with him, "We have other fish to fry."

"We do indeed, _devochka moya_. I'm disappointed in Woodward… but there are other ways of getting what we want…"

"I am glad to hear it," a light voice said behind him. "You may not be able to avail yourselves of them for some time, however." The young woman who appeared beside them carried a badge and a gun, and was accompanied by three airport police officers. "We also have fish to fry; a matter of kidnapping, intimidation, industrial theft and espionage, the illegal trafficking of military information; all of which, to be getting along with, you will be arrested for as soon as these officers have explained your rights to you."

Grenville's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Ahkmatova was made of sterner stuff. "You are NCIS," she hissed. "You are one of McGee's team… the ones that Woodward warned us of. We should have killed you all."

"Well, perhaps you should at least have heeded the warning," Ziva said, not in the least perturbed. "It is too late now, however… Do you not wish to finish your champagne? You may not get any more for a while. Officers, I must return to my team; the lady and gentleman are all yours." She didn't wish to gloat, in spite of all the pain these people had caused, but there was still a bounce in her step as she walked away.

* * *

Tim sat with his arm around Mari; still hardly able to believe all the things that had happened since the last time he had seen her, only yesterday. Thirty hours; it seemed like a lifetime ago. Medical staff came and went around them; Gibbs paced and Ziva sat still, her face a mask of calm. She had arrived later, reassuring Gibbs that his car was unhurt, her voice absolutely steady when she asked for news of Tony, but every time the door from the surgical wing opened, her head snapped round as fast as Gibbs' did.

Mari would lift her head from Tim's shoulder, then when no-one had news for them, she would sink down again with a sigh. After perhaps the tenth time, she finally spoke. "I should've trusted you, Tim. You and the team… I should have believed in you, instead of believing _him._ Tony wouldn't be in surgery now if I'd had faith…"

"You were trying to protect us," Tim murmured. "It's hard to think straight when you're afraid… and that's what they set out to do, you know… to make you so afraid you _couldn't_ think rationally. It's a technique that usually works, unfortunately." He put both arms round her and hugged her close. "One of these days, I'll tell you what sort of a twit my fear for you has made of me this last day and a half… you'll see you're not alone."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Sssh, stop it." He actually chuckled slightly. "We brought down some very bad people today; and we might be able to help in the bringing down of a few more."

"But –"

"I know… I won't forget in a hurry the look on your face when you were helping me to bind up Tony's arm with your scarf. I don't know what to say… it _wasn't _your fault… it's how we live, it's how we do our job."

She pulled out of his arms so she could look him in the eyes, and took his hands. "And that frightens me, so much, Tim. But… but if that's what I'm taking on, then I'll do it. I will _not_ be intimidated any more." Her chin came up defiantly, in a way that made him want to grab her and kiss the daylights out of her, and her next words shook him through to his bones. "I _will_ be the wife of a brave agent, and I _will_ take whatever comes. There." She paused. "And if we weren't so worried about Tony, I believe I'd jump you."

* * *

Another campus apartment on Cornell's Manhattan campus; somewhat grander and more spacious than the one where Marianne had hidden, as befits a senior lecturer; but not overdone, since Warren Dietrich wasn't that bothered about such things. He sat, patiently waiting for the phone to ring; he'd insisted that Jack got whoever necessary out of bed to make decisions. He figured he owed that much to Pavel, he needed the answers quickly. The Russian was unsettled, he stood looking out at the river, and the lights of the city; in the distance, he'd see aircraft climbing into the sky, or the powerful landing lights as others headed towards the end of their journey at JFK.

"They don't know me;" he said moodily. "Do you really think that they'll act on your say so?"

"They'd be fools not to. You're owed something for your help today; and they know you'll be valuable in the future. They have a dossier on you –"

Pavel huffed. "I figured as much," he grumbled.

"Not a bad thing. Your inside knowledge – plus, you have a certain morality about you…"

"You think?" 

"I know. It might not be everybody's but it's solid… Look, the employees don't care who runs the thing as long as they're paid… the international contacts – who already know us – don't care as long as they get what they want… the banks don't care as long as the money rolls in – totally amoral, and we can keep it going and going until we've identified, and taken out, a lot of very bad people. Until three years ago I was a bored research scientist – now –"

"We're Batman and Robin."

"Don't be so cynical –" the phone rang. Dietrich listened for a while, then disconnected. "They want to talk to you in person," he said. "But basically, Robin – we're on."

* * *

"I don't want to stay in here, Boss…" the voice was thready, tired, and doing petulant as only Tony knew how.

"It's the middle of the night, DiNozzo, where d'you think you'd go?"

"Ah… you got me."

"Listen… then shut up and go to sleep. The others all looked in on you before you came round, then I chased them all off back to Mari's to rest, they're exhausted."

"You're not, of course. And it's only five minutes since we were _doing_ this…"

"I _said,_ listen. I talked the Doctors into saying you could go in the morning."

"You _did_?"

"If you behave. Once they've replaced the lost blood. You're not fit to, although the actual surgery was minor, the blood loss was the problem… but we all decided you'd make our lives a misery if we left you here. McGee's coming to fetch you –"

"McGee? Did you order him to? He wouldn't want –"

"He volunteered."

"Oh."

"You rest up at Mari's for the rest of the day, then Abby drives you home in your car. That suit ya?"

Not Ziva… "Yeah… thanks, Boss!"

"So shut up and go to sleep."

"Shutting up, Boss…" Gibbs rubbed his SFA's shoulder gently, and left very quietly.

The morning found Tony on edge; sitting in the chair by his bed, dressed in sweats that Gibbs had produced from somewhere… McGee had volunteered, Gibbs said, but why, particularly? He wished he'd had time to talk to Abby, but thanks to his second dead cell phone in as many months, he hadn't had the chance. He remembered it was McGee who had held him last night, and Mari who'd bandaged his arm… He recalled the total disappearance of nice-boy Tim as he'd spoken to Packer, but he couldn't recall that his friend had spoken a word to him.

"Hey…" a tentative voice in the doorway said. Tony stood up, and promptly sat back down again. Tim looked at him and bit his lip. "I'm supposed not to let you do that," he said nervously. "I'm supposed to make you move slowly, and sit in a wheelchair to go out to the car."

"OK," Tony said obligingly, with a weary huff. "Don't think I could do much else, actually. D'you think I'll be able to avoid getting shot, or stabbed or whatever until…say… after Christmas?"

"Or punched?" Tim said quietly, as he pulled the hated chair into the room, and waited for reproach, or bitter sarcasm.

Tony laughed. "Taken you six years to actually _do_ it, McGee… shows how patient you are. I know… you told me to stay out of it, and I just never can do as I'm told…"

Tim was profoundly glad he was standing above and behind Tony as his friend lowered himself down into the wheelchair, awkwardly, using one hand. McGee put his hand under his shoulder to help him, and his cheeks flamed. Abby hadn't told Tony why he'd thrown that punch. Wonderful girl - he'd have to fall on his metaphorical knees to thank her. Maybe he'd tell Tony the truth one day, but not today.

He swung the chair round to face the bed, and sat down on the edge of it, hunching himself down to eye-level with Tony. "D'you know how weird that makes me feel? If you had done as you were told, Mari could be a prisoner somewhere, forced to work against her will… or dead… And because you didn't do as you were told, you're in that wheelchair…"

The answer was soft, and floored him as completely as Mari's answer to his two month old proposal had last night. "Well, which d'you think I prefer, Tim?"

"Ah…"

"One word of advice?" The green eyes in the pale face were mischievous. "Without you pushing me and my wheelchair down a flight of stairs?" Tim just nodded dumbly. "The job we do… puts constraints on us… we can't just do what we want – we have to handle things –"

"Like an agent," Tim finished.

"Yes. How… ah, Abby."

"That was why you really got her up here yesterday, to talk to me. Right?"

"She does it far better than me, don't you think?"

Sigh. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"So'm I. I could have put things a lot better."

"I could have listened."

"So, we'll both know better in future."

"Sure," Tim said ruefully. Tony stood up. "You're not supposed to do that!"

Tony threw his good arm round Tim's shoulder. "We good, then?"

"We're good." Tim returned the hug. "Now damn' well sit down!" He turned the chair towards the door and began to push.

As he steered the wheelchair down the corridor, a passing nurse heard the conversation that floated behind them.

"So, did you really shoot Packer in the…er… you know…"

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time…"

The End

**AN: So **_**was**_** it OOC? Thanks for sticking with me to the end!**


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